


Becoming Phoenix

by Caden_Parker



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe, Angst, Body insecurity, Book References, Cerebral Palsy, Cutting, Depression, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, F/F, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Homophobia, Love Confessions, Loving Sex, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Musical References, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overcoming your own Demons, Past Dragon Queen, Past Frozen Swan, Protective Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Red Beauty - Freeform, Romance, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Song fic, Swan Queen - Freeform, Using Music as a Coping Mechanism, intimacy issues, learning to love again, past suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caden_Parker/pseuds/Caden_Parker
Summary: Emma Swan is a writer with Cerebral Palsy, and a bruised heart. Regina Mills is a singer who unknowingly helps heal said heart.When Emma is hired to write Regina’s biography, the blonde’s world is turned upside-down, and she finds herself asking a question that terrifies her: Can she love again?





	1. From Heartbreak Comes...

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I just wanted to write something real, because it needed to be said… Written, rather, because I suck at expressing emotions, (most of the time), except for when they’re put on paper. This was actually an original work that I decided to put a Swan Queen spin on, because I get more feedback if I twist my work into the fandom. That said, I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> 'CP’ in this story does not stand for ‘Child Proof,’ but for ‘Cerebral Palsy.’ If you don’t know what that is, here’s the short answer: _'Cerebral Palsy is considered a neurological disorder caused by a non-progressive brain injury or malformation that occurs while the child’s brain is under development. Cerebral Palsy primarily affects body movement and muscle coordination. Though Cerebral Palsy can be defined, having Cerebral Palsy does not define the person that has the condition.'_
> 
> I should know; I have it. 
> 
> **Dedication:** _To you, Green Eyes; the woman who first taught me what love and heartache were - all in the same breath._

 

_There are tears in her eyes again._

_I hate them, because I know what they are, and what they are not. They are not symbols of contented love and overwhelmed joy, but signs of frustration and being unfulfilled. She’s angry at my rubber-band thighs again, taut and unyielding. I can’t tell her to gentle her eyes, her voice, her hands, because she’s rolled away from me, naked and heaving and silently blaming a body whose brain is screaming in protest. She’s angry at my clenching right hand and uncooperative hips, **I’m angry**. I always am. Every time a touch wanders from the tips of her fingers down, transforming itself into little pinpricks along my skin, every time I involuntarily stiffen, love leaves her eyes a little more. She does not care to fully understand that the stiffening is due to arousal. It only becomes painful when she enters me, and even then, when in the proper position, it is a sweet kind of stinging fullness that I crave without knowing why._

_But this bores her now, when it hadn’t before; none of that matters in the wake of her anger. Never mind minutes before she’d been unraveling under me, **because** of me. How easy it is to forget my bent spine and the silhouettes of canes against the wall **then**._

_I don't have to take my eyes from the ceiling to know she's dressing, slipping back into a T-shirt which had been haphazardly discarded by her own hands and underwear still damp from where my clumsy mouth had been. She's hiding from me, hiding the pale skin I love to touch._

_As she lays back down, I raise up on my right elbow, looking down at her. “Baby?” I say quietly, searching her eyes. Her rose-bud mouth gives me a tight smile._

“ _Get some sleep, Ems,” she says. I know that tone. It's the one she uses when she wants to quell the mounting anxiety in me, the one that's supposed to be soft but isn't because irritation is seeping through her words like venom._

“ _I'm sorry.” And it comes out sounding not like me at all, weak and hurt and tearful, and where the_ _ **hell**_ _is the me I was before her? I think she must have drowned under the delusional intensity of believing she was loved, first and foremost. This? This crushing anger that refuses to direct itself towards her and so tunnels inward, forming itself into self-hatred? It's not love. If it is, it's the most convoluted, fucked-up kind I've ever felt._

“ _I know,” she says, her blue eyes almost black in the darkness of her bedroom apart from the light flickering from the TV. She's looking at me with pity. I fucking_ _ **hate**_ _pity. I'm sorry my body won't fucking cooperate, I think despondently as I turn dejectedly away from_ _her; I love you._

 

* * *

   
Blinking back tears I open my eyes and stare emptily at my computer screen.

**I made myself her stepping-stones…**  
**I loved her, in an unexplainable way…  
** **in the way that fire loves paper.  
** **I burned myself to feel her warmth.  
****And I would do it again.** **~E. Swan – Fool’s Heart**

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I mutter to the darkness, irritated with my own emotions. I look at the words. I hadn’t written anything for months, nothing more than little spurts that only served to remind me of the fact that my mind was completely incapable of a thought that didn’t include a pair of flashing blue eyes. Nothing that said _progress_ , nothing that caused my fingers to twitch in anticipation of writing. They say heartbreak is the perfect companion for an artist, that grief and pain bear the greatest inspiration. And while that may be true for most, far be it from me to be a shining example of it. For me, numbness tends to make a dam of creativity.

Taking off my glasses, I rub away the indent at the bridge of my nose, set them aside, and finish up the last of my lukewarm coffee. The clock on my cell reads 1:05AM. I never  have been able to have a normal sleeping schedule, and after the breakup it just got ten times worse. I listen to the two voicemails I'd ignored. A small, nagging part of me hopes to hear Elsa’s voice, even though I know I won't.

_Emma, it’s Ingrid. I’m worried about you. You haven’t sent a manuscript in months… Call when you get this, we’ll do lunch. I have a proposition for you I think you might be interested in. Bye for now._

_Em, it’s Red, pick up the damn phone!_ A frustrated huff, _Alright here’s the deal: We’re goin’ out for drinks Friday night. I’m not taking no for an answer, Swan, so you better have your ass ready with bells on by eight, you hear? Love ya._ A smile hedges at the edge of my mouth for a second. Ruby could be hard-nosed; the term ‘tough love’ definitely applied to her, but she was also kind, and pushed me to better myself in a way that wasn’t the least bit condescending.

Turning off my computer and lamp-light, I crack my neck and knuckles before standing slowly and grabbing my canes leaning against the wall. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning.

 

* * *

   
I'm silent as Ruby drives. Kesha’s ‘ _Praying’_ blares through the speakers of her red Toyota; she sings at the top of her lungs and taps out the beat on the steering wheel. I offer her a grin that doesn't seem to fit on my face, and turn back to looking out the window. “Em,” she sighs, turning down the radio when the song ends, “I hate seeing you like this.” I can only manage a slight upturn of my lips when she glances at me, dark brown eyes full of worry. “It’s been a year, babe, a  _year_.”

“I know,” I say. Because _yes_ , I do know. _Yes_ , I recognize how emotionally dead and unresponsive I've become. _Yes,_ I know I'm not myself and that I lack my much-missed vibrancy, the problem is I don't know how the _hell_ to fix it. But, at least I have Rubes and Belle, and that is more helpful than they realize.

I’d wanted the openness, the newness of being in a different place. I’d gotten so tired of Storybrooke, Maine. Gotten tired of the too-bright smiles and the routine of small-town chit-chat and the "I-don't-know-how-to-approach-you-so-I'm-just-gonna-stare-instead-of-asking-questions" look.

I’d gone to college, and taken an odd-job as a cashier at Granny's while working my way through. After six months, I quit  the diner and got a job with the local newspaper. It wasn’t so much forcing a fake smile on my face every day – that trick I had perfected in high school – but dealing with the looks of pity I’d received on a daily basis. What bothered me had been the middle-aged women gawking just to gawk. Some of them were helpful, though. I can’t say they were all assholes; it’d make me sound like an ungrateful bitch. I just hated being looked down on. 

So, I left. I traded safety for self-improvement and adventure. Mom had been beside herself when I'd pulled up the list of accessible apartments in Boston. _“I have to go.”_   She’d taken a sip of her tea and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her burnt-orange cardigan sweater. _“I need to **live** , not just exist.”_

She’d given me a watery smile and nodded. _“Because of Elsa?”_

_“Partly,”_   I’d admitted.

_“I understand, sweetheart,”_ she’d said, taking my hand. _“Just remember your father and I love you.”_

And as for how I'd met Red? She’d been out walking her Malamute about a week and a half after I’d moved in, had noticed me struggling with grocery bags. She’d put her dog inside and came back out to help me, and that had been the beginning of our friendship. I’d divulged to her over coffee that I was a writer, that I’d self-published a book on Amazon when I was twenty, but that I wanted more, like, JK Rowling more. She’d laughed, had said that her girlfriend, Belle, was a huge book nerd, and an English major, just like me. Enter Ingrid Fisher, Belle’s old English professor who had taken up publishing after she’d retired. I published my second book at twenty-five. It did much better than the first, and my third one, published at twenty-seven, did ten-times better than that. And so I made a name for myself; not quite JK status, but satisfactory nonetheless.

"We're here, Em," Red says, snapping me out of my reverie. She's pulled up to _'The Rabbit Hole.'_   "Try to smile, Swan, it won't kill ya." 

"My face hurts when I smile," I retort humorlessly. 

Ruby just rolls her eyes. 

 

* * *

   
The night passes slowly. A few ask me to dance. I decline with a small smile, a slight shake of the head. My dancing is less about rhythm and more about trying not to fall on my ass. It equates to clumsy footwork and bobbing my head, since I can't move my hips. Elsa had hated that. She’d gotten frustrated with my body, my slowness. It hadn’t always been like that, _but it never is in the beginning of a relationship, right?_ I think bitterly. She used to be enthralled with me, gentle. But she had taken my love for granted, and I can say that now without feeling bad about it. Making love with me had become a chore for her, she’d told me during one of our fights. So I’d lain in bed that night, naked and rejected, my shoulders shaking as I cried, facing away from her. I sigh heavily.  _Now’s not the time._

I spend the night torn between self-loathing and throwing back Jack and Cokes; watching Red dance with strangers. Her heels come off at some point, and her feet become a blur of pink and painted red toenails. I smile despite myself.

She comes over when the song ends, heels dangling from her fingers and beads of sweat on her nose and forehead. I giggle, looking from the red heels in her hand to her feet. “How do you not have pointy toes?” I ask.

She eyes me, sighs. “If you puke in my car I’m going to kill you. I just had it cleaned.” I start laughing, unable to stop. I almost fall off the barstool. She catches me before I embarrass myself. “C’mon Giggles, let’s get you home.”

On the way back to our apartments, she mutters about always having to take care of my drunk ass, even though I'm not much of a drinker.

 

* * *

   
"Ugh. _Why_ do I do this to myself?” I grumble into my pillow, shielding my eyes against the morning sun. My phone rings, an upbeat jingle that doesn't match my mood. I search for it in the covers, put it to my ear without looking. "Hello?” 

“You sound like shit.”

I smile. "Mornin', Ingrid." 

“Don't  _'Mornin'_ ' me, Swan," she says with motherly irritation. "Were you even  _planning_  to call?” 

"I've been... busy." I cringe at how unconvincing that sounds.

"Certainly not with writing."

I sigh.

"Can you meet for brunch?” she asks.

“This about that proposition?”

“So you  _did_ get my message."

"Mmm-hmm. Pick me up in an hour? Coffee's on me this time." 

"See ya then."

Ignoring the headache slowly building in my temples, I make my way to the bathroom. Turning on the light, I cringe at my own face. My long hair is matted, my tired eyes blank. I lean my canes against the wall and stand with the backs of my calves touching the toilet for support. Peeling off my black tank-top and blue and black plaid pants, I look at myself again. My tattoos; the physical proof of my worth. From the bull’s-eye on my right shoulder to the quill on the inside of my left wrist; to a phoenix wrapping itself around my left arm and stopping just above my breast. And on my left rib-cage, written in three claw-marks, are the words _‘Never A Victim, Forever A Fighter.’_

_That’s right._ _Look at all the shit you’ve been through. You’ll get through this, too._ I sigh and wiggle free of the boxer briefs that hang around my hips. 

_Fuck CP._

My lips twitch upward as I get into the shower.

 

* * *

   
"You want me to _what?!_ ” I sputter out; my chai latte finally easing itself down my throat. I can’t believe my ears.

My publisher chuckles, beaming as she smiles. “Write Regina Mills’ biography. Actually,  _she_ wants you to. I hear she’s a fan of yours. When her agent contacted me, it was made perfectly clear that she wanted _you_ for the job.”

“But – but I’ve only written three novels,” I stutter, in complete awe. “I don’t know anything about biographies.”

Ingrid grins. “That doesn’t seem to matter. I suggest you learn. Will you do it?” Will I write a bio for the lead singer of _Scarred Queen_ , whose music admittedly stopped me from overdosing? Whose voice is a mix between Melissa Etheridge’s ripping screams, and Jeff Buckley’s haunting thoughtfulness?

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the trembling from my voice. “Tell them I’ll do it.”

 The ride back is a blur. I hear Ingrid's teasing and can't think of a single smart-ass retort. She would get in touch with Regina's agent as soon as she got home, she said. I nod, stay silent.  _Why me?_   _God knows there are people more qualified… I write fiction for a reason, to escape reality, not be plunged into it!_ Especially  _if it’s someone else’s! So why did you agree?_ A voice in the back of my head asks.  _Because it’s fucking Regina Mills maybe?_ I argue with myself.  _Then shut up and go for it!_ Sighing, I get out my phone and text Red.

_**Ing just gave me some news… Are you free?** _

_Yup! Want me to get out theIbuprofen? Lol_

_**God, yes. Are you sure it’s ok? You and B. not planning anything?** _

_**Nothing that can’t wait until tonight. ;-)** _

_**Lol, perv. Be there in 15.** _

 

* * *

   
No fucking  _way_!" Her wide eyes and gaping mouth make me grin. We sat at the kitchen table, a small three-seat pine rework that had once been a coffee table. That was one of the things I liked about Rubes, she lived modestly, no massive excess. The only sign of splurging is the gigantic flat-screen in the living room, which Belle now sits in front of, enraptured as she always is with The Ellen DeGeneres Show. Belle's a nice girl, the energetic kind who always have a story to tell. Now, after hearing my news, her blue eyes widen comically and she pauses her show to give me a congratulatory hug. 

“That’s awesome, Em!” she beams.

Red shakes her head and reaches across the table for her cigarettes. “Regina fucking Mills, I can’t believe it.”

“It _is_ pretty incredible,” Belle agrees, coming to sit on her partner’s lap. I look at them enviously. I missed simple gestures of love like that. I hadn’t been with a woman since Elsa, and we’d stopped having sex months before she’d broken it off. I’d been overly–sexual, she’d told me, and maybe she’d been right, looking back at it. But I could never get her to understand that sex was how I communicated. It’s how I dealt with pain, sadness, and happiness. I had only wanted to share that with her… Show her how I felt when words hadn’t been enough… It was a spiritual thing, more than anything else. Not to say that Elsa had been horrible. She’d had moments when I’d looked at her and thought _I want to make her my wife_. Her smile and eyes had, at one time, been my world. Her infectious laugh and warm endearment of _‘baby’_ in my ear had been my undoing.

“Em? _Emma_?” Ruby’s voice brings me back to the present.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, you still want that Ibuprofen? Looks like you could use it.” She frowns, worried.

“Oh, sure.” She goes to grab the pills, and Belle plops into her partner’s empty seat.

“So, when are you gonna meet her?" 

"Not sure," I shrug. "Ingrid said she'd get back to me when she knew something." 

"You know Regina means Queen in Latin, right?" Belle asks, always a source of random information. 

I shake my head. 

"Yeah!" Ruby calls from the bathroom, "Bet’chya wouldn’t mind being on your knees for _her_ , would ya Em?"

I roll my eyes. “ _Must_ you turn everything into a sexual innuendo?”

“Duh," she says matter-of-factly, a grin on her face as she hands me the pills, “That’s why you love me. I mean, shit, she could have anybody she wanted and picks _you_ to do her bio? Not only that, but she’s perfectly capable of good writing, all you have to do is listen to her lyrics to know that. Why couldn’t she write an auto on her own?”

I shrug, sip at the coffee. “She’s busy, most likely.”

“ _Or_ she digs you and has a thing for women with canes,” Red grins again, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Shut up,” I mutter, embarrassed. “You don’t know shit.”

“Neither do you,” my friend shoots back. “All I’m sayin’ is, keep an open mind, Em." 

I smirk at her, shake my head, go back to my coffee.


	2. First Impressions

_Mills is thirty,_  Wikipedia states. _She currently resides in New York City, though her family home is in Virginia. Her first album,_   ** _Faceless_** _, was released in 2013_ _and received very high praise for its thought-provoking lyrics and rawness on the subject of political injustice regarding LBGT rights. The album’s single, ‘Rage’ hit number three on the U.S. charts in February of that year._

 _Mills remains silent on the subject of her private life. Though she is openly gay, she will say no more. **'You want to know my relationship status?'**_ _She questioned The Rolling Stones in late 2014, **'Listen to my music.'**_

I pause in my reading, frowning. _Who hurt you?_  Shaking my head, I continue to read:

 _Following that remark,_ _in early 2015,_ _her second album **Scarred**_   _was_   _released._ _As the title might suggest, **Scarred** is a breakup album, though she will not say who it's about...  
_

I let out an irritated sigh and click the “back” arrow, reading some of the headlines: _**REGINA “REGGIE” MILLS DROPS FROM SPOTLIGHT, DEVASTATED BY BREAKUP!**_

_**MAL PAIGE SUSPECTED OF BEING INSPIRATION BEHIND MILLS' NEW ALBUM –** **'SCARRED.'** _

_**DID MAL CHEAT? THE LATEST SCOOP ON THE MILLS-PAIGE FIASCO!**  
  
_ I wince internally as I read. A breakup was bad enough, but a _public_ one? Jeez. Pulling up YouTube, I search her name and click on the first link, the music video for 'Dark Heart,' the second song on _Scarred_.

The tune is as dark and angry as I remember, though I've never seen the video. It opens in a snowy graveyard; the short intro plays while snow falls into Regina's jet-black hair, onto her long leather coat. She's looking down at a freshly-dug grave, and the camera focuses on her bent head, the wind-whipped hair covering her face. In one smooth motion, she raises her head and begins to talk.

 _Baby scream for me,  
_ _scream,  
_ _as you join me in death!_

 _Tell me you love me now_ , she whispers, giving the camera a dark sultry look, red lips twitching into the beginnings of a wolfish smile.  
_And the sin will be forgotten..._  
  
A chilling violin instrumental comes in, and it sounds to me like something rising out of the goddamn sea, swelling and powerful and  _hard_. The camera pans to the violinist, a woman with flying chestnut hair and closed eyes, before going back to Regina, who's now running her hand through her hair, frustrated. 

 _Dark, dark heart._  
_Something wretched comes this way,_  
_a game I no longer wanna play._

 _A sickness spreads like fire in me,_  
_I will never be he._  
_The wolf with teeth._

 _You'll play your game no longer_  
_dear, this I will make clear;_  
_as the earth swallows us,_  
_dark heart I will hold you near._

 _You can't escape me now my love,_  
_your fingers are clenched and dying..._  
_Such a lovely shade of red,_  
_your pulse is quickly shying._

 _This is the monster you made of me,_  
_see her now and run for cover..._  
_  
_ Regina smiles wickedly at the camera, and with the help of CGI, a black beating heart appears in her hand after swirling black smoke dissipates in her palm.   
  
_Oh my dark, dark heart,  
my dark, dark heart _...  
  
She reaches inside her own chest and pulls out her own heart, black just the same as the other, and begins to squeeze them simultaneously. The music swells, becomes a crescendo of violent passion. The first heart turns to dust. She sprinkles the ashes into the grave. She then squeezes her own; pain etches itself onto her face, and then...   
  
_My dark. Heart._ It is said in a haunting whisper. She collapses on her knees at the foot of the grave, an eerily-still all-black figure, and the ashes of her own heart lift into the wind, the last shot before the video fades to black.

I sit transfixed and blinking.  _Wow._ Emotions well in me, and for some reason I'm crying, only noticing it when the tears slip off my nose. I need to get some sleep; maybe it'll ease the stone in my chest. For awhile, anyway. 

 

* * *

   
"I've gotten in touch with Regina's agent. Name's Gold. He wants you in New York a week from Sunday." The Cheerio-filled spoon pauses half-way to my mouth."Em?" Seconds tick by and I can't get my mouth to move. "Are you there?" 

"Yeah," I say hoarsely. "I'm here. I just... Are you serious, Ing?" 

"Completely." I can hear the smile in her voice. "This is your big break, kiddo." I chuckle. Ingrid and I had known each other for four years, and despite my repeated half-hearted attempts to get her to pick a different nickname, it stuck. 

"No way," I murmur, in awe of the direction my life is taking.

"Way," comes my publisher's chuckled response. "I know you've always wanted to go to New York. Well, now you'll get to. I've already paid for your plane ticket, and the royalties you made from your last book will cover the room. It's accessible, of course," she says brightly. "The shower is walk-in and I've made sure a shower bench has been placed there for the course of your stay." 

"Thanks, Ing," I say quietly, my breakfast forgotten as I try to take all this in.

"Of course, Emma," she says warmly. "Oh, there's the other line. Bye for now, dear. Speak soon."

I stare stupidly at my cell as the line disconnects. "Holy shit." _Authors rarely, if ever, get this kind of treatment, and here I am getting it all at once because Regina Mills likes my work well enough to hire me. Holy shit!_   With shaking fingers, I speed-dial Mom, my head still spinning. 

* * *

   
The week passes in restless anticipation. I try to write, but my nerves won't let me. I give up after staring at an empty Word doc for an hour with no progress. My parents', Red's, and Belle's enthusiasm is infectious, and the nervousness turns to a giddy knot in my stomach. 

The night before I leave, I pack and repack my bags. Ruby laughs the entire time. 

"Em, you aren't going to meet the fucking Queen of England, alright? Ditch the suit." I groan and take it out of the duffle for the sixth time, put back the white button-up and my favorite ripped jeans. 

"I can't believe this is happening," I mutter, grabbing my canes from the floor and going to the fridge for a bottle of water, "This is crazy Rubes!"

“What is? The fact that you were set on trying to look like a penguin in that suit?”

"No, smartass," I grumble, recapping the water and putting it back. "Regina Mills wants me? Wants a writer with CP who's only just made a name for herself within the last few years? It doesn't seem real." I walk back to the bed, which is strewn with clothes, and sit on the edge. My friend is on her back, arms behind her head as she watches me chew on my lip. 

"Will you relax? You're talented, Em. Why _wouldn't_ she want you? It's about time a woman realizes what you have to offer - you too for that matter." I nod and give her a quick smile before going back to my packing. I need something to do with my hands.

 "It's just that... Elsa really did a number on me, y'know? Made me feel like whatever I offered wasn't good enough. I felt so  _worthless_ , Rubes. She left because of my CP, because she couldn't handle it... She resented me for the one thing about myself I can't change. And now? Now I doubt myself in every aspect of my life. The fucked up part? Some part of me, some dark, emotionally crazy part of me, still loves her... And I don't know why." 

Red sits up and puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. 

"So I ask myself: Am I really worthy of this? Am I really a good enough writer, a good enough  _person_ to deserve an opportunity like this?" 

"I can tell you all day long that you are, and to me? Hell yeah you're worthy. But until you actually  _believe_ that, it's pretty much a moot point." I rest my cheek against her shoulder and nod. She's right. It's not like her to stroke my ego just for the sake of stroking it. We stay like that for awhile, in companionable silence, until I let out a steadying breath and sit up.

Taking the last bag, I zip it closed. "Thanks, Red." 

"Anytime, Em. I've always got your back - never forget that." 

 

* * *

 

"Miss Swan," a short, balding man with a graying beard greets me at the baggage claim. The flight had been trying, what with me burning my mouth on a mocha, the ordeal with having to take my shoes off at security, and almost busting my ass numerous times as I tried to move around the airport in general. "My name's Leroy. I'm Regina's driver. It's a pleasure to meet you." He's wearing a white and black suit, a tie, shined-up loafers, and a chauffeur cap. His right hand is large and thick-fingered, but when I shake it, somewhat clumsily, it's warm and strong. 

I smile, mirroring his large, white grin. "It's nice to meet you too, Leroy." 

"Can I get your bags?" he asks, gesturing to the heap.

I nod, move out of the way so he can pick them up. I follow behind silently, opening the limo's door while he opens the trunk. He hurries, as they all do, thinking he needs to help me. "It's okay," I say readily when he comes to stand in front of me, "I've got it." Lowering myself onto the black leather seat, I brace my canes against the pavement and lock my elbows, scooting myself in. I take the canes off and, bunching them in my left hand, lean back and prop them against the seat. Then I bring my legs up, still leaning to the left a bit, and grit my teeth in concentration as I swivel to get them in. All this happens in thirty to forty seconds. Leroy looks at me inquisitively. I smile reassuringly at him as I settle in for the ride, shrugging off my backpack and putting it down beside my canes. My laptop, Ipod, wallet and Jodi Picoult's _Small Great Things_ are in it, but I know I'll be too distracted to read. He smiles back and shuts the door.

"Regina has told me a lot about your books," he ventures not ten minutes later. "She's almost as passionate about them as she is about music."

I blush. Which is insane, because I do not _blush._  Leroy's warm blue eyes flicker to me in the rear-view, and I see the tops of his cheeks crinkle as he smiles again. "That's... really nice of her." 

"She talks my ear off about 'em, honestly. She told me once, when I was driving her to a venue here in Boston, she said to me ' _Leo, she might be the greatest author I've ever read.'_ You can bet she meant it, too. Regina's not one to waste words." 

I nod again. I don't trust myself to speak.  _This has to be a dream. How the hell did I get here? Through luck,_ a small voice answers. _Don’t fuck it up._

"-Hilton," Leroy says.

I blink. "What was that?"

 "I said you'll be staying at the Hilton. In Times Square. That's where Regina will meet with you." 

"T-Times Square?  _The_ Times Square?!" _I can't breathe, I can't - Holy. Shit. Breathe, Swan, he's going to think you're having an aneurysm back here._

"The one and only." He shoots me another smile. "You've never been to New York, have you?"

I shake my head. Elsa had always promised me we’d travel together – have coffee on a balcony in Italy, see the castle ruins in Ireland, go on a road trip out west where the sky is so open you can see for miles... It's not that I didn't want to settle down with her, just that I wanted to see some of the world before I did. I like spontaneity, freedom, the idea of being knowledgeable without having to look to Google for answers. I realized a long time ago that having these attributes along with having a physical disability was not exactly a good combination, but the feeling of being stifled never really left me – until now. 

The car falls into a comfortable silence. I take out my Ipod and find my Indie playlist; a mix of Iron & Wine, Fink, Keaton Henson, City & Color and Ben Howard. 

 I can't stop myself from rolling down the tinted window and craning my neck upwards when skyscrapers come into view.

"Pictures don't do 'em justice, am I right?" Leroy says good-naturedly from the driver seat, raising his voice above the wind and traffic.  

"Hell no! This is _incredible_!" It is, and I can't stop staring. 

"We're only fifteen minutes out," he calls after a few minutes. I sober up immediately, my nerves coming back with a vengeance. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_ "Breathe, Miss Swan," Leroy laughs, "Regina is probably just as nervous as you are." 

"I highly doubt that." 

He just chuckles, his shoulders shaking silently. 

"What-What is she like?" I ask in a small voice when I gain enough composure to speak. 

"More down to earth than most people expect," comes the easy reply. "Quiet, like you," he winks. "Here we are," he pulls to a stop in front of the massive building. "Welcome to the Hilton, Miss Swan." 

"Call me Emma," I tell him without taking my eyes from the sight in front of me. 

"Alright, Emma. Go on," he says warmly when he notices I'm frozen in place. I nod minutely and put on my backpack. Leroy gets out and goes round to open my door. "The clerk will check you in," he tells me when I'm out of the limo, my sweaty hands gripping too tightly at the foam handles of my canes. "Regina will be waiting for you in the lounge - You'll be directed to where that is," he adds, seeing my lost look. "I'll bring your bags up to your room." 

"Thank you, Leroy," I say sincerely. He grins, and I know he believes me.

A round-faced woman with freckles painting the bridge of her nose and laugh lines around her lively, coal-black eyes greets me at the reception desk. Her name-tag reads _Anita_. I'm a sucker for details - for noticing things others seem to ignore. She hands me the key to my room, tells me the lounge is to the left. I stuff the key in my pocket and nod in thanks. I walk, in a haze of awe, towards the biggest opportunity I've ever had, or ever will have again.

* * *

 

Her back is to me, thankfully. I have time to calm my heartbeat and chastise myself for the star-struck nerves coiling unbidden in my stomach. She's signing an autograph from the looks of it, bending over a table before straightening and handing what looks like a photo to a man in a suit. "Thank you so much," I hear the man say. "My son... he loves you. You inspired him...her... to be herself." 

"She's very lucky to have a father like you." Her voice is deeper in pitch. It's sensual, warm, and possesses a richness that makes me want her to keep talking. The man turns to leave, and catching my gaze, gives me a nod before brushing past me. 

And then she's turning toward me and I forget the meaning of the word _oxygen_. She's wearing a pants-suit, tailored to perfection, and under her black jacket, her red silk blouse is unbuttoned enough to be tastefully obscene. Her hair is wavy and midnight-black, intentionally messy-looking, stopping just a little below her jaw.

She gives me a million-watt smile. The lipstick she's wearing, a muted shade of red, only serves to accentuate the whiteness of her teeth. "So," she says, walking toward me with recognition gleaming in her expressive brown eyes, "Here is the famous Emma Swan. How was your flight?"

 _Oh, right. That's me. Say something!_ "Miss Mills. It's great to meet you. My flight was okay - never really been a big fan of airplanes. Airports aren't exactly the most accessible places."

"I imagine not."  She shakes my right hand firmly. "I'm glad you agreed to this. Regina, please. You are going to be writing my life story, after all; there's no need for formalities."

"Emma's fine," I tell her, nerves coursing through every part of me.  _Did my voice just crack? Crap._

"Leroy told you that I'm a fan of yours, I'm sure."

"Yes. Um, which book?" I ask, my curiosity momentarily getting the better of me. 

She smiles again. "Let's sit. I'm sure you'd like to rest."  _Yes please._

Traveling's hard on me, but an occasionally aching back is a small price to pay to see a little of the world. I follow her, careful not to trip on the rugs that litter the floor. _I hate rugs._ She watches me get settled: pull out the chair, back into it, sit, rest my canes on the side of the table, take off my bag, set it on the table, and swing my legs underneath. I sigh as the tension in my shoulders lets up. The look of curiosity in her eyes is familiar, but there's something else… wonder, maybe?

"It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” There's no pity in the question, which is... new.

"Some days are better than others," I admit honestly, fully facing her now, "But I do the best I can with it." I try not to stare at the golden flecks in her eyes. I wonder if they change color.

“ _The Painter_ , that’s my favorite," she says, steepling her fingers. They all have rings on them.  _The Painter_ had been my second novel, set in 18th century Italy. It had centered around an Italian woman who, after being thrown from a horse, was rendered lame and took up the hobby of painting. She was then visited by a green-eyed woman many times in her dreams, until one day she was commissioned to do a family portrait for a married woman in England – the same woman in her dreams.

"Why?" 

"It was... Intriguing. I saw things from a perspective that forced me to think outside of the conventional. I suppose that was your goal, wasn't it?" she muses thoughtfully. "I thought showing the main character as a sexual being was brilliant. It's something we never see." 

I smile. Leroy had been right. "We are often more than what we appear to be." 

"See?" she says, smiling and pointing at my chest with one finger. "That. That right there is why I wanted you. I've never encountered anyone with your depth." 

I shake my head. "You underestimate yourself. Your songs are... beautiful." 

"As are your books. Now, do you want to start?" 

I nod. "Of course! Lemme just get my laptop..." I pull it out of my bag and boot it up, prepare to take bullet notes. Later, I'll use talk-to-text software to dictate the bits of conversation I want to keep. 

"You're left-handed," she says, "That explains the creativity."

I glance up and smile shyly. "Do you uh... have a name for the book?"

"Just  _ **Scarred Queen: the Regina Mills Story**_. Gold said he liked it well enough." 

"I like it." Although the hunt-and-peck system of typing is obsolete, I've managed to get pretty good at it over the years. "Any idea how you want to start this?" I ask, looking up from the keyboard.

Her brows knit together for a second. "We could always start with 'When did I know I was gay?' like every other lesbian who's had a bio written," she chuckles. 

I laugh. "No, how about when you first got into music?" 

"I was seven. My grandfather had a piano in his living room... I was instantly drawn to it. I loved the sounds it made, even if it was just a jangle of keys with no real rhythm." She pauses while I type that out.

I look up, feeling her watching me. "Sorry. I'm a slow typer, it'll take me a minute to -" 

"Emma." The way she says my name makes my pulse quicken. Soft, reassuring. Like my name is more than a name. "It's alright. I knew about your disability before I hired you. So what if it takes a little longer? I asked for you because of your talent - you're a fucking Picasso with words. I want a biography that reflects depth, that makes people _think_. I know you can give me that. Don't worry, okay?"

I feel my stomach twist at her praise, at the look of conviction in her eyes.  _Believe her. Maybe in time._ "Okay," I say quietly. 


	3. The News

"So," I clear my throat, "Did your grandfather teach you to play piano?"  

She smiles knowingly, and I know she knows evasiveness when she hears it. "Mmm-hmm. He taught the piano, my father taught the guitar, and I taught myself the drums."

"Wow. Music in every corner." 

"Pretty much. There wasn't much else to occupy a teenager in Ashburn." 

"Are you close with your family?" 

"More so my father than my mother. She wasn't thrilled when I came out." 

"Which was when?" I ask without looking up, my left index finger flying across the keys. 

"I was nineteen. I knew before then; I was just too concerned with what she thought of me to say anything sooner."

I raise my eyes to hers. "Why?" 

“Same old song and dance," she sighs. "It’s a sin, goes against God’s principles, la-de-da.” I smirk, and she mirrors it with one of her own. "Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against Christians, or anyone. I just have a problem with the sanctimonious ones. Unfortunately, my mother falls into that category. Not surprising that she kicked me out, really." 

"I'm sorry." She shrugs with practiced indifference. "What're their names?" 

"Cora and Henry." I nod and go back to my bullet notes."So what happened?" 

"My mother caught me kissing my girlfriend on the hood of my car. After that? I broke it off with her, packed everything I owned into the little Honda civic I had and left. Blared George Michael’s  _Freedom ‘90_ all the way down the driveway."

I can't help the genuine laugh that finds its way out of my throat. Regina's eyes gleam in response. "That is... Awesome. Exactly the kind of thing I'd do."

"All the more reason to like you, then," she says with an affable grin. I go back to the keyboard to hide the warmth I can feel in my cheeks. 

"George Micheal was one of your influences, I take it?" She nods. I bullet-point **_Mother (Cora) is a first-class bitch; R kicked out; GM influences in music ( ex: song Dirty Mind)_**  She nods. "Who else?" I glance up, see her starting to tick them off on her fingers. 

“Melissa Etheridge, The Stones, The Smiths, H.I.M. … Stone Temple Pilots, Janis Joplin. Jeff Buckley, Evanescence. Those are the main ones." 

 _**M.E., Stones, Joplin, Buckley, Smiths, STP, H.I.M.** **Evanescence.*Find**_ _**reference songs*** _

I flex my hand as I finish, cracking my fingers and popping my probably already arthritic wrist. _Y_ e _ll at me later. I'm busy._ My left elbow starts to lock.  _Dammit!_ "Emma? Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, my hand's just cramping; no worries."

"How about we take a break?" I nod and close the laptop.  _This is so fucking inconvenient._ I roll my left wrist, hearing the there-but-shouldn't-be crack. "What's that?" she gestures to the flash of ink she'd seen. I turn my arm over so she can see the quill and inkwell, next to it are the words _'This Too Shall Pass.'_ Beside ' _Pass_ _'_ is an ink puddle, made to look like it's dripping.  

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, "Can I...?" I nod and she reaches out, traces the words with the tip of her finger. "How many do you have?"

"Four," I say, surprised at how even my voice sounds. "So far, anyway."

She nods, removes her hand as she looks at her watch. "Shoot. It's 7:30 already. I have to get home to Hannah." 

"Hannah?" 

"My dog," she chuckles. "Kathryn's dog-sitting time is up; she probably wants to get her paycheck for tonight." 

"Oh," I say, "Do you wanna meet here in the morning or...?" 

"Yes. I'll meet you here for breakfast, okay?" I nod and start putting my stuff away. When I'm up and ready to head back, she pauses for a moment, standing with her suit jacket flung over one shoulder, held by hooked fingers, and her free hand shoved into her pocket. 

"Emma, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." 

"In ‘ _T_ _he Painter’_ you started out so lively and with such a bright outlook, but about half-way through you became dark, and gave the book such a sad, albeit wonderful, ending… Why?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Because… I didn’t get my happy ending. We seldom do, in this life. It was my reality check, that book. At that point in my life, I realized I couldn’t hide from the pains of love anymore, and I was a fool to try. Does that answer your question?" I ask softly, the weight of my own words heavy on my heart. It was one thing to say that to yourself in a mantra derived from a broken but stubborn heart, and quite another to say it aloud. When you say it out loud, it makes it real, solid. Something you can’t run away from. 

"Yes," Regina says, and her eyes are too soft, too understanding, and suddenly my chest aches and I want the one person who doesn't want me. "Thank you."

I swallow the knot in my throat, say "You're welcome, I'll see you in the morning," and turn to leave.  
  
In three hours, I manage to get the first chapter done. It's painstaking, even with the talk-to-text software, because nothing _flows_ , and dammit why did I agree to this? I have to stop myself from deleting it, from starting over, because I  _have_ to have something to show her, and if ever there was a time when mediocrity wouldn't cut it, it was now.  So I type, and talk, correct and correct again until I deem it suitable.   
  
The thought of Elsa's eyes don't come to me until mine close hours later.  _No. **No.**  Warm smile, gentle brown eyes. Better. Better. _

 

* * *

 

"Can I help you?" A smiling young man stands behind the breakfast bar, watching me peruse the very large selection of food. 

"Yeah," I say, pulling my wallet from my jeans and balancing long enough on my canes to free my hands and get my bank card. "Can I get a... everything bagel with cream cheese? And one of those,” I point to a fruit cup, “And coffee. Five sugars and five creams, please.” 

“Sure." He takes the card, swipes it, hands it back. 

"Thanks. Would you mind bringing it over to a table for me? My hands are a little full," I joke, gesturing to the metal and plastic around my forearms. 

"Of course," he says with that annoyingly too bright let-me-be-a-good-Samaritan-to-the-disabled-chick voice.  _Cynical much?_ _Damn straight; I don't have a reason not to be._ "I'll bring it over to you."  _Nobody ever laughs at that joke - I should stop trying to make it funny._ I pocket my wallet and find an empty table, thank him again when he brings me my food.

As I eat, I people-watch. Suits and ties, dresses that cost at least half of the royalty I'd gotten for  _'The Painter.'_ Business men with slicked-back hair and women with coach purses. I wonder if they're all as stuck-up as they look.

I take a sip of coffee and wince. I hadn't made it sweet enough.

Catching Regina's eye as she wades through the crowd, I toss her a smile. She waves and comes over. "Morning, Emma. Sorry I'm late - traffic." 

I nod. "It's okay."

"I'm going to get some breakfast. I'll be right with you." I nod again, take another swig of coffee. She's wearing leather today, a jacket that looks like it's from the 90's and her lips are cherry-red. Her hair's been straightened and flipped out. Under the jacket she has on a white tee and her sunglasses - Ray-bands - are tucked in the collar.

 _Hot. Why did I decide to wear a blue and white plaid shirt again? I look like a lumberjack, for shit's sake!_ Regina orders a blueberry scone and a cup of coffee and then she's sitting in front of me, smiling. 

"Hi."

"Hi. Have a good night?" 

"Mmm, you?" 

"I've never slept in a bed that soft. It feels like a freakin' cloud!" 

She chuckles at my obvious enthusiasm. I like the way she laughs. We sit in silence for a couple of seconds before she breaks it. "So, what's your story, Emma Swan?" 

"Which one? I have a lot." 

She looks at me thoughtfully. "Whichever one you want to tell me." 

"Well, I come from a place in Maine, called Storybrooke. It's such a small town that we only have one street-light. There's a diner there, Granny's? Best bear claws in the world." 

She smiles. "That sounds nice." 

"It is, in a way, but it's also suffocating if you stay there too long. I got bored with the monotony of it all." _And my ex got bored with me._ "So I left, moved to Boston. My best friend's girlfriend, Belle, she knew Ingrid from her college days. Set me up with her. I wrote a couple of books, inspired by the change of scenery, and well, here we are." 

She swallows a bite of scone. I try not to stare when she licks the melted butter from her fingers. "And your parents are supportive of your writing?"

"Indefinitely. They always joked that I was going to be the rich one of the family. My Dad, David, he's the sheriff of the town. Mom? Mary Margret, she's a teacher - first grade." She nods. "What about you?" I ask, "What do Henry and Cora Mills do?" 

"My father's on the business side of ranching - sells horses to a company called True Grit Rodeo in VA." 

"A cowgirl, huh?" I teased. "I wasn't expecting that."

"No one ever does," she smirks. "Yes, I can ride. It was a hobby of mine for awhile." 

"And your mom?" 

Regina scoffs. "She's never worked a day in her life. Never had to, thanks to Daddy's money." 

"She sounds like a..."

"Abhorrent bitch? I agree." 

"I was going to say 'ray of sunshine', but yeah." 

She laughs, throaty and free. "There's no reason to hold off on insults when it comes to my mother; trust me, I don't." She pauses, then: "You have any siblings?" 

I shake my head. "Just me. You?"

"My parents couldn't handle another one after me. Did you get lonely?"

There's warmth in her eyes, interest.  _Am I really so unused to this?_   _I must be, because it seems miraculous that she would want to get to know me at all…_ “Yeah, I did. I got lonely a lot, actually… but writing helped. Still does.”

You’re still lonely?” _She speaks like I used to. I don’t know if I’m put off by that, or intrigued…_

“Uh, sometimes,” I answer honestly, surprising myself. She only nods, looks at me like she  _knows_ , and it's comforting, and I feel weird  _because_ it's comforting.  _Jesus Swan, when did you become so emotionally stunted? Don't answer that._

"Me too," she says. I finish my fruit cup, unsure of what to say or how to say it. She sips her coffee, watches me. "You wanna get out of here? I was planning to meet the guys after breakfast; they really want to meet you." 

"I'd love to."

 

* * *

 

Watching the blur of buildings and sidewalks, I try to ignore the feeling of her eyes on me - and the fact that I'm riding shotgun in a fucking silver Vette. “Have you ever been to New York?” I turn to look at her; her profile is stunning, and again I'm struck with how monumental this all is.

"No, this is my first time."

"Is it everything you hoped for?"

"What I've seen of it is absolutely beautiful. I can definitely check the Big Apple off my bucket list." 

"Where else do you want to go?" 

"New Orleans, definitely. I can't resist a good Jazz band. And London. Italy... Paris, too."

"I've been to London, and Paris. Beautiful places."

"I'd like to see Big Ben someday."

She smiles. "I'm sure you will." The Vette stops then, idling in front of a massive building. I read the sign. _Gold Studios_. "We're here." 

"It's a recording studio," I mutter in awe, staring out the window. 

"Yes," Regina chuckles warmly beside me. 

"I've never seen one, much less been  _in_ one." 

"It’s much more impressive inside. C’mon. Do you need help getting out?” I shake my head and reach for the door. "I'll be right there; just need to give the car to the valet," she says, nodding to the man outside the door. I nod and clamor out, watching her as she hands over the keys."Ready?" she asks, turning back to me. I turn towards the door and she comes up beside me, putting her hand on my shoulder. She opens the glass door with her free hand and I'm ushered in, immediately greeted by gold furniture and mahogany flooring. 

"I'm home!" Regina calls through the empty lobby. A door opens somewhere down the hall, there's the sound of running, and then a brunette woman is rounding the corner, coming at Regina at break-neck speed. 

"Reggie!" she cries, throwing her arms around her neck tightly. 

"Woah, Lil!" she laughs, patting her back affectionately. "I know we haven't seen each other in a few weeks, but let up a little, hmm? I can't breathe."

The lanky brunette pulls back and beams at her friend, patting her shoulders. "Drama queen," she teases. Her eyes flick over to me. "So this is her, huh? That author you always gush over?" 

“I do not _gush_! And her name is Emma." I smirk at Regina's faint blush.

"You totally do, Reg. Don't play coy." She grins and extends her hand to me. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Lily; the violinist." _Thought I recognized the hair._ I give her a grin of my own and shake her hand. "So, she convinced you to do her bio... Y'know, I thought you'd be taller." 

"Lily!" Regina hisses.

"I slouch," I reply easily.

Lily's eyes gleam. "I like her, Reg. C'mon back and meet the rest, Emma. We're in the break room." Following her down the corridor, she opens a door at the very end of the hall. Inside, the room is surprisingly sparse. Four leather chairs dominate most of the space. There's an unplugged amp in the corner, and a table with cookies and brownies on it. A coffee maker beside that. I walk in and smile at the two men resting easily in the chairs, sinking down into one myself.  

"Emma," Regina introduces as she sits in the empty chair beside me, "This is Robin Locksley." He's dirty-blonde with ocean-colored eyes and huge arms.

"Lemme guess," I say as he stands and crosses over to me, offering a hand, "You're the drummer." 

He flashes perfect white teeth as we shake. "Good guess." He sounds British. 

"And this constantly brooding gentleman," Regina continues, gesturing to the dark-haired man in the corner, "Is Killian Jones."

"Pleased to meet ya, love," he says, holding up a ringed hand in greeting. "I'm the second guitarist."  _Could've guessed that,_ I think, eyeing his decidedly low-cut blue shirt and toned, hairy chest. He's wearing a leather jacket and pants that look entirely too tight. Eyeliner, messy hair, and a single, dangling cross earring. Definitely the "bad boy" of the group.  

"You too," I say. 

"So," Lily cuts in, "What's the big news?! Gold wouldn't breathe a word of it." 

Regina smiles. "You all know I've been out of the business for awhile..." A collective nod of agreement. "Well, I want to remedy that. It's time for _Scarred Queen_  to make a comeback!" 

Robin whoops. Lily squeals. "Oh, I am  _so_ down! Holy shit, Reggie! Really?! What changed your mind?" 

Regina looks at me. "She did, when she agreed to do my bio."  _God, her eyes are mesmerizing._ "I thought," she says, tearing her eyes away from mine and meeting the gazes of her band mates, "That this album could be a rebirth, you know? I think it's time for us to be redefined. I want this to be gritty, unapologetic in a way that SQ has never been before." 

"Are we talking a music video for each song?" Killian asks. "The Crocodile will probably shell out the money for it."

"The Crocodile?" I ask, looking at him in confusion.

"He smiles like one," Robin explains, "Bit of a creeper, actually, but he pays well."

"Yes," Regina answers. "I want to pull out all the stops for this."  

Killian smirks. "As you wish, Your Majesty."  


	4. Loving A Ghost

After we leave Gold's studio, Regina insists she show me some of the city. I enthusiastically agree - because who _doesn't_ want to be shown around NYC by Regina Mills? - and because she has this _gleam_ in her eyes when she pulls away from the building, and I like the idea that I put it there. Happiness looks good on her. "What are you thinking about?" she asks. 

 _God, that **voice**_. "Did you really mean what you said back there?" I find myself asking. "About me inspiring you?"

She stops at a red light and looks at me. "Emma, there's something you have to know about me. I never say things I don't mean,  _especially_ when it comes to my favorite author." And she winks,  _winks_ at me, and my chest aches for a reason that doesn't have anything to do with the panic attacks I sometimes get. 

"I - Thank you." 

She just smiles before turning back to the road. "Oh, I love this song!" she says as she turns up the radio. The chorus of  _'Out of Touch'_ by  _Hall & Oats_ fills the car. I grin, throw my head back, and sing along with her.

She takes us to a mall; a gigantic pool of people and sound and light. I love it. Regina laughs at my undoubtedly wide eyes, but the sound stops short when I feel a harsh kick to my right cane. It's replaced with a hand grabbing my shirt, and every muscle in my body tensing, ready on instinct to fall.  _Always be ready for pain - It hurts less that way._

"Emma!" Regina tugs, and I manage to bring my canes back in closer to myself. The guy who'd tripped me doesn't stop walking. Regina wraps a protective arm around my waist, glares daggers at the back of the asshole's head, and I know she can feel my heart race against my ribs. "Are you alright?" she mummers, and her breath is warm and sweet against my cheek.  

"Yeah," I say somewhat breathlessly, trying to slow the adrenaline coursing through my body, "I'm alright."

"Good," she says, giving my side a squeeze before stepping away. After a bit more walking, a clothing store catches my eye and I veer left. Regina walks easily beside me, on my right, a buffer between me and the crowd.  _Elsa never did that_ _, never walked **beside** me. Always in front or behind. Regina does it without even thinking about it. _

"Sorry," I say, and she frowns, so I add: "About walking so slow, I know it's- Well, inconvenient." 

"Emma, do I look inconvenienced to you?" 

"Um, no, but-"  

"You don't need to apologize. It's  _okay_ ," she grins fully, and my heart squeezes again. I smile back, nod, busy myself with looking through clothes racks while Regina wanders around the store.  _It's okay. She said it was okay. Why does that make me want to cry? Because it never felt okay before._ Minutes pass and I marvel at every ridiculously expensive thing I touch. "Do you like it?" Regina's beside me again, watching as I finger the cuff of a red leather jacket. 

"Mmm-hmm."

"You must," she laughs. "You've been side-eyeing it for the past ten minutes."

I turn to smirk at her. "I have a weakness for leather." 

She arches a perfectly-shaped dark eyebrow at me and smirks. "Oh, do you?" My eyes sweep over the leather she's wearing and I bite my lip. "If that's the case then... Will you let me buy it for you?"

"It's one-thousand dollars, Regina. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking; I'm offering. Here," she says, taking it off the hanger and holding it open for me, "Try it on." I slip my left cane off, lean it against the rack. I put my arm through the sleeve, and she shimmies it up over my shoulder. The process is repeated with my right arm, but it takes two tries before the damn limb cooperates. I have to bite back an irritated curse. _It's okay. She said it was okay. Breathe, Swan, just relax your forearm and shoulder... there!_ Regina comes around to face me, her hands gentle as she straights the jacket."You look fantastic, Emma. It suits you," she smiles. "Come look." I situate myself in front of a tall mirror, smile at my reflection. "Yeah?" Regina says, and her eyes have that gleam again. 

"Yeah," I agree, unable to wipe the grin from my face. 

She pats my shoulders, then steps back. "I know you're perfectly capable of buying this yourself, but I'd like to purchase it for you. If you'll let me."

 ** _Why_** _do her eyes have to be so damn **earnest**?! I can't say no when she's looking at me like that. _ "Okay," I murmur. I feel my stomach knot as we stand in line and the numbers on the cash register go up. I made good money, true, but I never went for overly-extravagant things. The highest I went was American Eagle, and that was considered a splurge.  _And now I have a red leather Armani jacket that fits like a glove and is one-thousand freakin' dollars... Red's gonna shit herself._

"Ready to go?" she asks as the cashier hands her two bags full of designer clothes. I nod, stunned into silence. She doesn't speak until we're in the Vette again, heading back to the hotel. "I'm sorry, Emma. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I only meant the jacket as a thank you for being here, for agreeing to put the story of my life on paper." 

Without thinking, my hand finds hers, resting on the gear shift. "No, Regina. Please don't think that I don't  _love_ it, because I do. I just... Don't come from that kind of money, you know? I'm not exactly used to finery. And I don't want you to feel like - like I only agreed to write your story for the money, because I didn't. You're wonderful, and I never want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you, because you don't deserve that and -"

"Emma." My name is a soft laugh in her mouth. "Breathe. I don't think that at all. I know you wouldn't take advantage of me - you have far too much integrity for that, Miss Swan. As far as all of this being a bit much for you, it was for me too, at first.The paparazzi, the photo shoots, the tours… It definitely took some getting used to.”

"So, why did you quit? Were -" I swallow, knowing this is probably a touchy subject for her "- Were the tabloids true?" 

And to that she says "Some of them," with this  _tiredness_ in her voice that I know all too well. "And you? What's kept you from writing more than three novels?" 

"Elsa," my voice cracks on that name. It tips Regina off, I  _know_ it does, and I hate myself for it. "My ex. Your bio is the first thing I've written in a year." I remove my hand from Regina's, feeling like I've just put my foot in my mouth and  _ruined_ everything.  ** _Again._**

But her hand follows mine, where it's clenched into a fist against my jeans, and squeezes before going back to the steering wheel. "I'm honored." And I can tell she _is_ , even though she hasn't read a single word yet.  Hey," she says softly, glancing at me like she understands,"It's alright." I look out the window, try to ignore the burn of tears in my throat.  _Nothing about loving a ghost is okay_ _._

I miss the warmth of Regina's hand instantly. 

 

* * *

   
It's six o'clock by the time we get back. The dinning room is half-full, the sun is setting and each table has candles on it, and suddenly the idea of having dinner with Regina in _this_ setting is nerve-racking.  _Calm down; it's just dinner. Regina's not gonna judge you if you accidentally get sauce on your shirt. She's... different. Yeah, that's what you said about Elsa too. Regina's gentle. Elsa started out that way, too. **Shut up!**_ _Christ, you're afraid to **feel** anything. How do you expect to move on if you keep doing this to yourself? _

"Two, please," Regina says with a genteel smile to the waitress. The woman named Beth nods and tells us to follow her. We're given a window seat with a fantastic view of the New York skyline. 

"What can I get for you to drink?" she asks when I've settled myself across from Regina. 

"Um, just a glass of Moscato, please." 

"And for you, Miss Mills?" 

"Pinot Noir." 

"Excellent, I'll have that right out for you." She gives a polite smile and moves away, leaving me without anything to occupy my thoughts. _Great._

"Emma?" Regina's hands are steepled in front of her again. I wonder if her fingers are calloused from guitar-playing. 

"Yeah?" 

"Will you tell me more about having Cerebral Palsy?"

"What do you want to know?" 

"Everything." 

I smile. "You want to know how it affects me, specifically? Or do you want to know about it in general?"

"Both," she says adamantly, "If you're comfortable with telling me."   

"I am. I actually prefer when people ask questions, but we should probably order first." She nods and we pour over the menus. I settle on crab cakes and Regina decides on the grilled chicken salad. Beth comes back with our drinks moments later. We give our orders; silently sip our wine. "This question," I ask when Regina looking at me over her wine glass with an unreadable, but undeniably  _soft_ expression becomes too much, and I have to glance down for a second, "Is it because of what happened at the mall today?" 

"Partly. But also because it intrigues me. It has ever since I discovered that you not only have it, but use it in your writing as well." 

"It's a coping mechanism," I say quietly, and the truth doesn't sting so much with wine warming me from the inside out.  

She nods. "Just as my music is mine." This is nice, this easiness of conversation, Regina's actual interest in me and my life. My nerves start to ebb, because I can  _do_ this.  _Elsa. Will you let me be content for five fucking seconds?!_ _Elsa, Elsa, **Elsa. She did the exact same thing! Made you feel comfortable, wanted, and then BAM! Heartbreak city.** FUCK OFF!  _

I take another sip of wine and then start to talk. "For starters, CP's a birth defect caused by a bleed on the brain, specifically the part that controls motor skills. The bleed itself is caused by lack of oxygen at birth. There are several different types, and they all vary in severity. What I have is classified as mild to moderate, and the fancy name for it is quadratic mixed-type, meaning, as you can probably guess, that all four of my limbs are affected. But, the right side of my body is more affected than my left, hence the term mixed type." 

Regina nods intently. She doesn't look bored or indulgent, which is how most people look when I explain the logistics of having CP. _She's listening, actually fucking listening. Damn that feels good._  Beth arrives with our plates and a cheery "Enjoy!" and walks off. The conversation halts as we dig into our food. 

"Oh my God!" I moan around the flavors assaulting my tongue,"This is _amazing_!"  

Regina chuckles."The quickest way to your heart is through your stomach, hmm?" she teases. 

I nod and lean forward, like I'm giving a secret away,"If someone really wanted to get to me, though, it'd be through cheesecake." 

She laughs. "You have a sweet tooth." 

"It's my Achilles Heel."

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." The words  _Safe with me_ make me pause. _Am I? Am I really, Regina Mills?_   Her eyes are the color of onyx flickering in the candlelight, honest and deep, and I think maybe I can be. 

"So," I say after swallowing a bite of my dinner, "I told you that my right side is more affected than my left." She nods. "That isn't the case with my eyes or my right foot. I can tap with my right foot, not with my left. And my left eye is my lazy eye, meaning that it wanders sometimes, while my right stays completely straight."

"And what's the fancy name for that?"

"The eye thing is called Amblyopia. The foot thing is just my brain being cross-wired weirdly." 

"Your glasses don't help with that?" 

I shake my head. "No. Because I'm an adult, there's nothing to be done with my eyes. My glasses improve my vision, yes, but as far as actually correcting my lazy eye goes it's a moot venture at this point. I'm lucky I can see at all, honestly. My retinas detached when I was an infant." I look for the flash of pity, of revulsion, but there isn't one.

"You've really been through it, haven't you?" I shrug my one good shoulder. "You're incredible, Emma. Having had all this thrown at you, and you still are so... Resilient."  

"I've never had the option to be anything but," I tell her. "Here, let me show you something." I hold up both of my hands, palms out. I wiggle the fingers of my left hand, all moving one after the other, and then together. I repeat the action with my right, but my fingers move together with no separation evident. “See? This," I say, showing her how my right arm won't turn completely, "Is why I had a hard time with the jacket today."

"I see," she says, like she's committing all of this, all of _me_ , to memory. "And the curve in your back?" she asks, pausing to take a few more bites of salad.

“Scoliosis.”

“Does it hurt?”

"Yes," I admit, "Especially when I move around too much. But, if it's back pain v.s. living and seeing New York, NY wins."

Regina grins. "I'm glad to hear it." I grin back and we finish up our meals in silence. 

"Can I get you anything else tonight?" Beth asks when she comes back to check on us. 

"Yes," Regina answers before I can decline, "We'll have the cheesecake." 

My eyes go wide and Regina chuckles again. 

"Very good. What kind would you like? We have original, raspberry, chocolate, tiramisu, or lemon." 

Brown eyes fix on mine. "Emma?" 

The look she's giving me makes my mouth go dry. "Uh, chocolate." 

"Lemon for me, thank you." 

"Alright, coming right up. How are we doing the check? Together or separate?"

"Together," I say at once, determined not to let Regina buy this, too. Beth nods and once again moves away. "Hey," I say, seeing Regina's surprised expression, "You bought me a one-thousand dollar jacket, the least I can do is buy you dinner."

"Thank you," she smiles. 

When desert is finished, we head back to my room. "You've gone quiet on me again," she murmurs when we walk in and I flop unceremoniously onto the bed.

"I was thinking." 

"About...?"  _Everything. Elsa, you... And did Mal ever notice how fucking beautiful your eyes are?_

"A lot." I hate that I'm being so evasive now, when I'd been so open at dinner, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. She's leaning casually against the door, her arms and ankles crossed.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"I know," I say, embarrassed by my own stand-offishness. 

"As long as you do, that's all that matters." 

I nod. "I'll... See you tomorrow?" It's a question, pitifully soft, and I don't feel resilient at all. 

"Of course you will," she beams, and the knot in my throat eases a little. Before I can blink, she crosses the room, bends a bit at the waist, and gives me a hug.  _This feels so good. **She** feels so good. _I wrap my arms around her and squeeze back. "Goodnight, Emma," she whispers in my ear, "Sleep well." 

"You too," I breath out, surrounded by the sent of cherry blossom perfume.

Sleep alludes me until 2AM. Before I succumb to it, though, I do something I know I shouldn't, because my chest aches and I can't get  _ **her**_ out of my head and I just want to hear her voice, talk to her like I used to, before everything went to shit. 

I hold my breath and dial.  _The number you have dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please hang up and try your call again. Thank you._ "GODDAMMIT!" I yell, throwing my phone across the room. Tears prick and fall, and they soak my pillow for the same reason they have for the pass two years. 

There's nothing okay about loving a ghost at all. 


	5. One of Those Faces

In the morning, I wake to the buzzing of my cell. Groaning, I blindly search for it in the covers. I frown - it's an NY area code.  _The hell?_ "Hello?" I croak sleepily, eyes still shut as I try to block out the day. 

"Mornin', Sunshine." 

"Regina?" 

"Did I wake you?" 

"Yes." I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the time: 10:35. "And you're a musician, aren't you supposed to sleep until noon or something?" I yawn. "How did you even get my number?" 

"I  _may_ have contacted Ingrid and asked for it," she replies somewhat sheepishly. "I just wanted to know if you liked doughnuts as much as you like cheesecake."

I smirk. "Raspberry-filled are my favorite."

"Great, I'll be there in a half-hour." Before I can reply, the call is cut off. _Well, alright then._ I feel myself start to smile, but grit my teeth as the memory of last night reasserts itself.  _Fuck._ And I feel it, the crashing of my mood as depression sets in, the burning feeling I get when I think of Elsa - a cold sweat, a dropping of my stomach; my teeth aching.  _It's too early for this._ It  _is_ \- too early for pining and pity and beating myself up for wanting her before noon. 

Taking a deep breath, I make myself get out of bed and get dressed, pausing only to snap a picture of the jacket draped over a chair in the far corner of the room. I send it to Ruby with the caption  _My thank you for writing Regina's bio._

She responds a minute later.  ** _Holy shit, Em! Look at you, living the high life! How's NYC treating you?_**

_Good :) The first chapter of the bio is done for the most part, still needs to be tweaked though. And it's amazing here, Red. There's just... so much. It's beautiful. I went to a fucking recording studio yesterday, and Regina's planning on making a come-back album. She says it's because I agreed to write the book._

**_Thatta girl ;) I'm proud of you. Speaking of beautiful... Is Regina as gorgeous in person as she is on her CD covers?_ **

_They don't do her justice in the slightest, Rubes._

**_Lmao. You have a crush._ **

_I do not!_

**_The fact that you're denying it proves you do. You forget I've known you for years. It sounds like she digs you, too. And not just for your pretty blonde head ;)_**

_She's nice,_ I tell her,  _*Too* nice._ _Suspiciously nice._

**_Lol. God, you are so cynical._ **

_Tell me something I don't know. I tried to call Elsa last night._

**_*Eye-roll emoji* Jesus Em, WHY do you do this to yourself?_ **

_Because I'm the Queen of Self-Sabotage._

**_Emma, I love you, but DO NOT FUCK THIS UP! Regina likes you, LET YOURSELF HAVE THIS, DAMMIT!_**

_That jacket? It's ARMANI. $1,000.00._

**_*Shocked emoji* Honey, for that price you damn well better get on your knees._ **

_Red!_

**_What? I think she'd like it ;)_ **

I roll my eyes at my phone, then hear a knock at my door.  _Gtg. That's her. Ttyl. Tell B. I said hi._ "Just a sec!" I call, grabbing my canes from where they're resting against the wall and hoisting myself up from the edge of the bed. "Hey," I say when I manage to unlock the door and pry it open. 

Regina smiles warmly, her eyes doing a quick sweep of my T-shirt, jeans, and socked feet. "Hey yourself," she replies, holding up a white paper bag. "I come bearing doughnuts." I grin in answer and step aside, letting her inside. We sit together on the bed and, after I put my canes aside again, she hands me a raspberry-filled. "I got you two," she tells me, "So I hope you're hungry." 

"Always," I say, taking a small bite so the jelly doesn't drip down my chin. She takes out a glazed from the bag and starts to eat. It's  _better_ somehow, with Regina here. My lungs feel a little less like popped balloons and my feet get a break from the imaginary shackles my depression puts around them. "I finished the first chapter a few days ago, if you'd like to take a look. It needs to be edited a little, to include your cow-girl days," we share a smirk, "But the basics are there." 

"I'll take a look after breakfast," she says. 

I nod. "What's on the agenda for today?" 

"Working on the demo. Will you come with me?" 

"Of course. By the way, you never told me - why  _Scarred Queen_? I mean, I get the Queen part, because of your name, but why scarred?" She swallows the last of her doughnut, unbuttons the left cuff of her purple dress shirt, and rolls up her sleeve. White scars litter her tan forearm; criss-crossing x's that make a shiver run down my spine and my heart ache. "Oh," I breathe, watching from my preferential vision as Regina's mouth twists into a wry grimace. "How...?" 

"With a gillette," she says, dark humor evident in her voice, and then I'm touching the scars with my fingertips and she's biting her lip and I feel so  _much_ all at once."There's a particularly deep one on the inside of my right thigh. That was the first one. I was thirteen. Those that you're touching? They're because of Mal."

"Regina... I'm so sorry." 

"Emma," she murmurs, placing her hand on my wrist. My fingers stop running over her pulse.  How can she make my name sound like so many different things? Like  _it's alright_ and  _Don't worry_ and  _Trust me_? I wonder if that's how I make her name sound. "Old wounds," Regina whispers. "You don't have to feel them for me."  _How does this happen?_ I think,  _How does every moment with her feel so... **charged**? Because she knows pain, too... And she wants to heal yours. _ She touches the edge of my bull's-eye tat, and I stiffen. She raises the sleeve until it's bunched at my shoulder. "You know, I have to say, your way of showing your scars is much more pleasing to look at than mine." She chuckles, and it eases me a little. 

I swallow. It keeps the words _You're still beautiful_ lodged in my throat. "Will you...tell me about Mal?" 

She nods, seeing my question for the distraction it obviously is. She's too smart not to. I fish out my second doughnut from the bag and start to eat. The sweetness helps curve the seriousness of the moment. "Mal was my first celebrity relationship. She was a French model, and we met while I was doing the photo-shoot for the first album. Mal was like quicksand to me. I fell hard and fast and carelessly, despite having been hurt twice before. "Ma colombe, she called me. My dove."  _French. She can speak French. Of course she can._ "We lived together for two years before she got the call to go back to France to pose for some high-end photographer. I went with her to Paris. 'Oh, Reggie,' she said to me, 'What about your musique?' I told her I could work on it in Paris. With her. And I did. Gold set me up on my first world tour, and off we went."

She sighs, flops back onto the bed. "If you don't want to talk about this-" 

"No, it's fine. It's just... unpleasant."

I nod and wait.  

"We got an apartment. I did my thing and she did hers, but there were nights when I would get home before her. I would spend hours writing songs for her, all about love and devotion and the fear I was starting to feel. When she did finally come home, and I would ask her about work, about  _André_ , she'd say 'Don't worry, Ma colombe,' and then make love to me." The thought of Regina being taken advantage of that way angers me, but I keep quiet. This is her story, her past, and I have to respect it, even if I think Mal Paige deserves to be punched in the mouth. "I started to notice mood swings. She became violent and snappy over time. One night after a particularly brutal fight - she'd left, probably to go to André, after I'd asked her about the mood swings - I found speed in her underwear drawer. After that, things were never the same, for either of us. She came home the next afternoon smelling of him, and told me tearfully that she'd slept with him. I called her a whore and threw her out of the apartment.

To get back at me, she told the press that I'd been abusive to her, which of course I never had been, but," she sighs again, "The press will take anything as a story. You can imagine what that did to my budding career. So I finished up my tour and went back to Virginia, locking myself in many a hotel bathroom with a razor blade along the way. I tried to commit suicide in my mother's bathroom, cutting until I thought there was no saving me, but my father broke down the door and got me to the hospital just in time. I stayed there for two months. During that time, I wrote and played guitar. When I got out, I went back to Gold and told him I wanted to do a second album. He agreed, and that's how you got _Scarred_. It started when my mother called me fat, but Mal is the one who took the name  _Scarred Queen_ and made it what it is." 

"Wow," is all I can think to say, because what do you say to something like that?

Regina laughs. No, not so much a laugh as air forced from her lungs. "Yeah," she says, and her voice is uncharacteristically small. She doesn't meet my eyes when she says "I hope it doesn't damage your opinion of me, Emma."

My heart clenches at her words. "No," I say vehemently, "No, of course not. I'm honored that you chose to share that with me." She looks at me, smiles. Sitting up, she says, in a tone I know is meant only for me, "I've never told anyone that before. I guess you just have one of those faces." 

"What kind of face is that?" I whisper, because speaking any louder will break whatever spell we're under right now. 

Slowly, she reaches up and cups my cheek. I can feel the metal of her thumb ring as she rubs the skin beneath my eye. "The kind that make me feel safe." I hold her eyes, see the gentleness in them, the unguarded trust, and I want to cry. "Do you feel safe with me, Emma?" 

"I..." I want to say  _Yes_ with resounding certainty, but I just... _Can't_. Not yet. "I'm getting there," I tell her, smiling to soften any blow she might feel. It's the most honest answer I can give. But her eyes don't waver, and a patient smile blooms on her lips. 

"Good," she says, and leans back, dropping her hand from my face. Wordlessly, I lean forward and gently pull her into a hug, because I'm not quite ready for this to end. Not yet. The hug is solid and strong, nothing like the perfunctory one we shared last night. "Thank you," she murmurs, and this time I'm the one who pulls away.  "So, let's have a look at that chapter, shall we?" I smile and get up from the bed. She watches me as I make my way across the room to boot up the laptop. 

"Beautiful as always," she says when she finishes. And I hear _something_ in the layers of her voice, but before I can process it she's turning from the desk to look at me on the edge of the bed, struggling with my right shoe and saying "Would you like me to-?" 

"Thanks," I grit out, irritated that I've been at this for ten minutes and I still can't get my fucking foot in the damn shoe. Then: "No!" when I register her question, because _that_ leads to memories of Elsa and 'Here baby, let me help you,' and 'No, I don't mind,' and 'I can't take  _ **care**_ of you, Emma.' I will  _not_ do that again. Never again. Regina blinks, surprised. "Sorry," I mutter, "Just... gimme a second."  _Toes are in, foot's turned left, now just put it on your knee. Check. Half-way on, now I can just put it on the floor and sink into it. Fucking finally! Man this takes forever sometimes._

"What are those called, anyway?" she asks as I fasten the black Velcro strap across my ankle, securing it to the plastic brace inside my shoe.There's gentle curiosity in her voice, telling me that she's easily brushed aside my curtness. But, I feel bad for snapping, and my mood begins to dampen again.

"A hybrid between an AFO and an SMO," I sigh, looking up to meet her gaze. "An AFO is an Ankle-Foot Orthosis; it covers the leg, ankle and the foot. They're longer than SMO's, and stop just below the bend in your knee. They're used to correct abnormal muscle patterns, and to strengthen the muscles by  _making_ them be in the right position. An SMO - a Supra-Malleolar Orthotic - serves the same purpose essentially, except that they're shorter, encasing only the foot and the bare-minimum of the ankle. I needed a little of both, because the SMO didn't stop my heels from popping up, and I don't need an AFO, because my legs are now strong enough to function without them." I take a breath, muster a smirk. "Does that answer your question, Miss Mills?" 

Her eyes gleam at my teasing tone. "You're aware that you sound like a walking Thesaurus, aren't you, Miss Swan?"  _Miss Swan._ Why did that make me ache so much? Why did it make me  _want?_  

"I should," I say, "After twenty-seven years of it." She looks at me, studies me,  _appraises_ me, and instead of squirming under her eyes, I rub my tattoo-covered left arm and try not to lower mine. 

She squints. "What is that? A bird?" 

I laugh and push my sleeve to my shoulder. "A phoenix." 

She stands from the desk and walks to where I'm sitting, bends a little to get a better look at it. Maya Angelou's quote  _"But still, like dust, I'll rise"_ is embedded in the wing wrapping around my forearm. The head is hidden from view by my shirt, and her eyes follow upward, glancing at the hidden spot on my chest before glancing back at me and smiling. "It suits you." 

"I'm hardly a phoenix, Regina."  _Queen of Self-Sabotage._

She shakes her head minutely at me, as if to say  _You are SO much more than that, why can't you see it?_ "I beg to differ," she says instead, "I think you're well on your way to becoming one, if you're not one already." She straightens and offers her hand, her  _left_ one _._ "Come on. There's music to be made."

 

* * *

 

Robert Gold does look like a crocodile. It's his eyes, mostly. Looking into them I'm met with the impression that they miss nothing, and hold a constantly shifty expression, as if judging the world for his own existence. I think that might have something to do with his limp; his gold-handled cane, and I feel a rush of sympathy for him.  _Being constantly bitter solves nothing._ True, I get annoyed more often than I should, but I don't hold my anger like that. Seeing it on him, in his slummed shoulders and tightly gripped cane, I'm glad I don't. "Ah, Regina dear, good to see you."

She gives him a quick squeeze. "You too, Rob."  

His gaze flashes to me. "Miss Swan. Welcome. Regina has told me of your work." He offers a hand and I shake it; his palm is dry, but the shake is solid. 

"Mr. Gold," I say, fixing an automatic smile on my face, "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"Likewise, likewise. Now, Regina, I understand from Robin you wish to make another comeback." Regina nods. "Excellent, dearie. Let's start you on the demo, and we can go from there. The band is in Studio 1A, if you'll just follow me," he adds for my benefit. I follow them both to a massive room. Half of it is glass, the other a seating area with a sound board set up for Gold's use. A sound booth. My mouth drops open as I take in the mics, amps, the huge drum-set Robin is sitting behind, the golden records on the walls. And the _guitars. Jesus, those are pretty._  

"You look like you're in heaven, Phoenix," Regina says in my ear.

I nod dumbly. "This is - this is... Wow."

Gold nods from his seat behind the sound board, looking pleased. "Indeed it is, dear. Your author has good taste, Regina." A warm hand squeezes my shoulder in answer. Electricity shoots down my spine and pools in my lower abdomen.  _Oh God. I'm in trouble. Don't be an idiot, do you **want** to get hurt again?  No. Then stop staring and get your head in the game, Swan. _I mentally shake myself. I'm not going there today. The depression rabbit hole can fuck off for at least a few hours.  

"You have the songs, dearie?" Gold double-checks. Regina pulls folded sheets of notebook paper from her slacks pocket. Gold nods in approval and she moves from my side, meeting the gazes of her band mates as she enters the booth.   
  
Watching Regina sing and play the black Les Paul in her hands is like watching a once-caged bird, finally free. It's beautiful and inspiring and strikes such a cord in me that I find goosebumps on my arms. The first song is about her mother, the second about finding herself, the third, fourth, and fifth about lost love. Through it all I sit in awe of the amazing woman in front of me. She finds my gaze a time or two as she's singing, and I feel my heart ache and squeeze and pound, as if it can't decide which emotion Regina elicits. 

"She's quite exceptional, isn't she?" Gold asks from beside me. 

"Yes. Yes she is."

  
That night, as I'm working on the bio, I write:  _We forget that musicians are people, too. But in the case of Regina Mills, it's easy to remember._


	6. Discontent Isn't Your Color (Or Mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Song used in this chapter - [Sinead O'Connor - Take Me To Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMzY_KQIKjU)

_"Tell me," Regina murmurs against my neck."Tell me what you're really afraid of..." I gulp, say nothing, because I feel like my pulse is between her teeth, and with it, all my secrets. "Phoenix," her hands move from my naked sides up my arms, until she's gently holding both of mine over my head. "Talk to me. Tell me."_

_In answer, I simply roll us over. It's somewhat easier to breathe now. "You. I'm afraid of you." My left hand dips between her thighs, and I moan because dear **God** she feels like silk. "I'm afraid of how you make me feel," I tell her, my fingers moving in a motion that is sickeningly familiar, taught by a woman that isn't her. The guilt builds again. _

_"You think I'm going to hurt you," Regina pants beneath me, her sweat-slicked skin bringing out something primal and unforgiving in me._

_"Yes," I growl, biting hard on a dark nipple._

_She whimpers. "I won't, Emma."_

_"You're lying."_

_"I'm not."_

_Elsa appears on the bed, dressed casually and smirking at me. "Doesn't matter, Ems. I'm the only one you'll ever love." I bare my teeth and sink my fingers deeper into Regina, who bucks and swears and clutches at my shoulders. Elsa laughs outright. "You think fucking her will change anything?" She stands, rounds the bed, and reaches for the space between my shoulder blades. Her nails dig into my back. She drags them down, blunt little points of pleasure, and I moan again."That's right, baby," she mummers in **that** voice, "You like your stripes, don't you?" She repeats the motion. I can feel the skin on my back start to split. I beg her to do it again. Harder. Blood trickles down my spine. Tear me open, I think, I don't care! Just call me yours again. _

_"Emma," my name is soft in Regina's mouth. "Emma, no. Come back to me."  Elsa laughs cruelly, dips her tongue into the canyon that has formed on my back.  Regina's eyes are filling with tears as I roll my head back in ecstasy. "No," she says again, and grabs my face in her hands. "You don't belong to this pain anymore. Come back to me, come back..."_

Jerking awake, I instantly become aware of my blurry eyes and dark hotel room. My hands come up to scrub angrily at my face. "Fuck you, Elsa White," I mutter, feeling a wave of sobs building in my chest.  _No. No, you're not doing this. You've cried too much and laughed too little. You. Are. Not. Doing. This. Suck it up, Swan._ I grit my teeth and reach for my phone. 4:55AM.  _Dammit._ Sighing, I flop back on my bed and scroll through Facebook, then Instagram. Belle and Ruby have posted a nauseatingly cute couple selfie, all smiles as they lay cuddled in bed with sleepy morning grins on their faces. Ruby had posted it, and the caption read: ** _This is what happiness looks like. #RedBeauty #SheMakesMeLookGood_**. I suppress an envious groan. Navigating to my contacts, I consider texting Red, but she'd kill me for waking her up. That's the problem with depression and nightmarish dreams and wanting a woman you can't have; when the tide comes to pull you under, more often than not, you have to get out yourself. 

 _Regina._ I stare at her name like it holds all the answers. It doesn't, because logically I know  _I_ hold them, but what fight does logic have when my heart is in my stomach? I want her here with me. I want her warm arms and dark, caring gaze. I want her  _"It's okay"_ and her  _"Don't worry_ _"_ and her beautiful, easily-given smile. 

My thumb hovers over the  _'Call'_ button.  _You're fucking pathetic, Swan. Go on, call her. I'll be here when she laughs in your face for being an emotionally fucked train wreck._ I put my phone back on the nightstand and squeeze my eyes shut.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're awfully quiet this morning," she says as we drink coffee in the breakfast bar. "More so than usual." Light teasing; I smirk despite myself. "Everything okay?" I love, and hate simultaneously, how easily she's beginning to read me; how my resolve cracks under her softness.  _I'm fine. Liar._

"I had a nightmare last night. It's got me thinking." Admitting that feels like acid, like panic, like  _Run, before she gets too close! You want her close. No. **Yes.**_ Something in my eyes makes her brow arch, makes her hand reach for the fingers wrapped in a death-grip around my coffee cup. She has on a brown leather bracelet, multi-banded and twisted. I stare at it. 

"What did you dream about?" Her thumb is rubbing my wrist. I extend my pinky, because little touches feel better than none. I bite my lip. "Elsa?" she asks in her deep, velvety,  _Safe with me_ voice. I nod, my eyes still on her bracelet. "Emma." I look up. "Talk to me." 

 _Oh, Regina..._ "I can't," I say gently. If she knew about the dream,  _all_ of it, she'd run. And, damn me, I'd care if she did. "I want to. It's just... I don't know how." 

She nods. "You know, Phoenix," she sucks her bottom lip, "Discontent really isn't your color." There's no bite to her words. 

I laugh dryly. "It isn't yours either."

"Touché, Miss Swan," she smirks, the mood lightening a bit by our banter, "Touché." 

We spend what's left of the morning up in my room, talking about the bio. She tells me more about Cora, (the bitch had back-handed her when she was ten for refusing to wear a dress - resulting in the scar on her lip). I tell her about how, when I was a kid, I'd lock myself in my room and write poetry. I tell her that I'd blared Melissa Etheridge so loud my bedroom floor shook, that my mother had asked me, point-blank after I'd sang along to  _'Mama I'm Strange'_ in the car: _"Are you strange, Emma?"_

"And you said...?"

"I said no, in this pitifully soft voice that I'm sure she saw right through. She dropped it, until, at twelve, I couldn't take it anymore and just nodded yes to the question of  _"Do you want a girlfriend?"_ before bursting into tears." 

"Aww." 

"I know," I say, smiling. "Turns out she was totally cool with it. So was Dad." 

"You're lucky. My mother wanted to send me to a conversion camp. Dad talked her out of it. He cried when I left." I feel another pang for her, a nearly unbearable urge to cross the room - where she's sitting backwards on the computer chair, with her arms folded - and hug the sorrow away. She taps her foot. "You like Sinead O'Connor, Phoenix?" 

_Where are you going with this?_ "Yeah," I say slowly. She smiles, gets up, moves the chair closer to me, and grabs the guitar she'd carried in this morning. "There's a song," she explains as she unzips the case and pulls out a cherry-red acoustic, "Called _'Take Me to Church'_." She puts the case on the bed and sits, positioning the black shoulder strap. "Do you know it?" I nod. "I used to sing it when Mal and I first broke up. And then, it morphed into an anthem for my mother." She stops tuning and looks up. It's another one of those  _It's **okay**_ moments. But, for both of us this time."Sing with me." Translation:  _I know you need to get this out; here's a good way to do it._

"Okay," I whisper. 

She smiles again, strums the intro, and starts to sing:

_I don't wanna love the way I loved before,_  
_I don't wanna love that way no more._  
_What have I been writin' love songs for?_  
_I don't want to write them anymore._  
_I don't wanna sing from where I sang before,_  
_I don't wanna sing that way no more._  
_What've I've been singin' love songs for?_  
_I don't wanna sing them anymore,_  
_I don't wanna be that girl no more._  
_I don't wanna cry no more,_  
_I don't wanna die no more._  
_So cut me down from this here tree,_  
_Cut the rope from off of me._  
_Sit me on the floor,_  
_I'm the only one I should adore._  
  
_Oh, take me to church,_  
_I've done so many bad things, it hurts._  
_Yeah, take me to church._  
_But not the ones that hurt,_  
_'cause that ain't the truth,_  
_and that's not what it's worth._  
  
_Yeah, take me to church,_  
_oh, take me to church._  
_I've done so many bad things, it hurts._  
_Yeah, get me to church,_  
_but not the ones that hurt,_  
_'cause that ain't the truth,_  
_and that's not what it's worth._  
  
_I'm gonna sing songs of loving and forgiving,_  
_songs of eating and of drinking,_  
_songs of living, songs of calling in the night,_  
_'cause songs are like a bolt of light._  
_And love's the only love you should invite._  
_Songs of long and spiteful fails,_  
_songs that don't let you sit still,_  
_Songs that mend your broken bones,_  
_and that don't leave you alone._  
_So get me down from this here tree,_  
_take the rope from off of me,_  
_sit me on the floor,_  
_I'm the only one I should adore!_

There's a loosening of something in my chest as the song fades out. "It's not really about church, is it?" I say quietly, because saying  _'Thank you. You have no idea... Actually, you do'_ feels like too much. 

"No," she murmurs, "Not for you and me."  _You and me. **You** and me... Don't do this to yourself. She'll only hurt you in the end. She's  **different**! _ "It's more about... having a safe place."  _You're becoming mine, Regina Mills. God help me, you really are._ Her phone buzzes in her pocket. "Shit," she mutters, looking at it, "I'm late. I was supposed to meet the guys at the studio ten minutes ago." 

"Better get going, then," I tease, "SQ needs their queen." 

Regina chuckles. "I'll see you soon."

I nod, watching her go with nausea and happiness battling for room in my body. 

 

* * *

 

 

I spend three hours on the book. The words pour out of my mouth like water, and suddenly I have one-hundred pages in total. Cracking my knuckles, I push away from the desk. _"Tell me what you're really afraid of..."_ Regina's voice sounds in my head.  _I can't do_ this, I think. _Too late - she's already in. Not all the way. Aren't you going to let her?  No. Yes, you are. I can't! She'll get bored with me, just like Elsa did. Regina is not Elsa. That's a **good** thing. Not every woman is gonna hurt you. Don't be stupid. She'll use you and leave. But the way she looks at me... I have to say something.  **You will not.** Who the hell would want someone like  **you**_ _? **You have nothing to offer her... and you never will**. You're pathetic, looking at her like she's the fucking sun. This is a job, nothing more. _ I scrub my face and pick up my cell. 

"Hey, Mom," I say on the third ring. "Storybrooke still in one piece?" 

"Emma! David, it's Emma! How are you, sweetheart? Settled in, I imagine. Do you like New York? What's it like? What's Regina like? How's the biography coming? You know I don't know much about that kind of thing, but-" 

"Let her talk, Snow," Dad chuckles. I'd been put on speaker. I smile into the receiver. Snow was my Dad's nickname for her, because her skin was paler than anything he'd ever seen - made her that much more beautiful, he said.

"Everything's great," I say brightly, because aside from the war waging in my head, it is. "New York is amazing - everything I thought it would be. How are things on your end?" 

"Fine, fine," Mom says. "You know this town never changes. The most exciting thing that happened this week was Granny adding pastrami sandwiches to the menu." 

I laugh. "What about you, Dad? Got any stories for me?" 

"Does keeping Gepetto at the station overnight for a DUI count?" 

"Again?" I ask. "I know he loves his whiskey, but the man's going to turn into a Jim Beam bottle if he's not careful." 

"I'm guessing he wouldn't mind too much," my father replies easily, "You know he hasn't been himself since Nora died." The old man's wife had been a lovely woman, sweet as a sugar-induced toothache. She'd passed away at forty from birthing complications - Gepetto had lost her and his son in the same day. 

"And on that cheerful note," Mom interrupts, not one for talking about overly-sad things, "Tell us about Regina."  

_ Here we go. _ "Well, the bio's coming along - one-hundred pages in three weeks is a new record for me. Regina doesn't mind that I'm a slow writer; she says that I'm her favorite author," I beam to the empty room. "She's... not what I expected. She doesn't even bat an eye at my CP."

"Why should she, sweetheart? I've told you time and again that in the right person's eyes, your disability will mean nothing." 

"I know," I murmur. "The thing is... hearing it and seeing it are two very different things. And Regina, she's... She sees it, sees _me_." Before I can stop myself, I'm telling them about the jacket, the almost-fall at the mall, what I refer to in my head as  _The Cheesecake_ _Incident_ , because I need to get this  _out_."The worst part is," I say, breathless with my admission, "Is that I have feelings for her... And - and I don't know what the  _hell_ to do about it."

I can tell my parents are sharing a look on the other end of the line - both grinning. "Well, that's obvious, Em," says my father, his tone happy and teasing, "Just tell her."

I huff. "You think this is  _easy_?" 

"I didn't say easy, I said obvious." I roll my eyes. 

"Besides," Mom adds, "Love is never easy at first."


	7. One More Time, With Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Song used in this chapter - [New Order- Bizarre Love Triangle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnGGkluWtrE)

_Love? Who said anything about love? I don't love her... Yet. Ah, yet. You're diggin' yourself a bigger hole than the one Elsa put you in, Swan._ "I - I don't, I mean I'm not - Regina isn't-"  

"Emma," my mother sighs on the other end of the phone - she's taken me off speaker, which means I'm about to receive one of her famous  _You can't hide from me_ speeches - "That wall of yours may keep out pain, but it also keeps out love." 

"Mom. I am **_not_** in love with Regina." 

She chuckles. "Only because you won't let yourself be. She's good to you, honey. You shouldn't shut her out just because of what happened with-"

"We are not having this conversation!"

"All I'm saying is...  _If_ anything more happens between you - let it."  _Damn her and her infernal optimism. Don't you get it, Mom? I'm too broken._

I sigh heavily. "Okay. Fine. I have to go. Yeah, I love you too. I'll call when I can. Bye." Letting out a sigh, I hang up, only to be greeted by the  _ping_ of a text message. 

**_I'm five seconds away from throwing my guitar out the window. ~R._ **

I smile; for some reason the image strikes me as funny.  _Alanis Morisette style?_  I type back. 

**_Ha. Oh no, Phoenix, little Miss Meltdown has nothing on me. It's Gold. He doesn't like the arrangement of one of the songs, says the outro is too long. I've rearranged it three times! The bastard doesn't have an artistic bone in his body! ~R._ **

_What do the guys think?_

_**Robin and Lil like it. Killian doesn't give a damn as long as he gets paid. ~R.** _

_I say go for it. You wrote it; you should be able to preform it how you want._

**_And go against my employer? *Shocked emoji* Who do you think I am, Britney Spears? ~R._ **

I laugh out loud at that.  _I love this, how easy it is. Of course not,_ I type back,  _You're a Queen. You're much more refined._

_**Lol! *Smirking emoji* Charmer. How's the bio coming? ~R.**_

_100 pgs. in total. A new record, considering I've been here for three weeks. Other writers would probably have the book half -way done, but for me, it's an accomplishment._

**_Screw other writers. I didn't hire them. We should celebrate! Drinks tonight? ~R._ **

_Sure. Sounds like you need a couple, lol._

_**Truer words were never typed. I'll call Leroy when I'm done here - we can head over together. ~R.** _

_The Vette?_

**_I'll have Killian take it home for me. See you at seven. :) ~R._ **

I stare at the words, at the smiling emoji, and feel my chest clench.  _I am so, so fucked._

 

* * *

 

 

"You clean up well, Phoenix. Doesn't she, Leo?" she asks as I clamor into the limo. As I lean my canes against the seat, she takes them from me and puts them on the side opposite her. I'd spent an hour FaceTiming Red, holding up outfits to the camera. 

 _"It isn't a date!"_  I'd protested,  _"Stop grinning!"_

 _"Belle! She's in denial!"_  my friend called. Moments later Belle had come into the room, grinning at the flustered look on my face. She'd plopped down on the bed next to her girlfriend and said  _"Face it, you have a date with Regina Mills. Now, go with the dark jeans, black shirt, and the jacket. She won't be able to stop staring."_

 _"I TOLD her that!"_ Red said, exasperated as hell,  _"Maybe she'll listen to **you**!" _

 _"It's not a -"_ they both looked at me pointedly - "U _gh! Fine! I hate you both."_

 _"Love you too,"_ Ruby said.  _"Go get her, Em!"_ And, with an infuriatingly smug smirk and small wave, she'd discounted the call. 

"She does," Leroy agrees, bringing me back to the present. I settle back against the leather seat and try not to let my nervousness show on my face. Regina looks at me and smiles. 

"Where are we going?" I ask, partly because I'm curious and partly because, if my mouth moves, I have something to distract me from my thudding heartbeat. 

"Cielo. It's a dance-club. You'll like it, I think." There's a rebuke on my tongue, a lame excuse of _'I don't dance',_ but I stop myself, because it's _Regina_ , and if I have to make a fool of myself in front of someone, it might as well be her. 

 

* * *

 

 

"What do you think?" Regina yells in my ear. We're huddled together at the bar, sipping something fruity and strong. She's ordered one for us both, and I toss mine back without question. Anything to calm my nerves. If I drink enough, I'll just stop caring, and if I stop caring, well... All the better, right?  _Wrong. Ease up, it's just Regina. **Just** Regina. Ha! That's a good one. _

What do I think? The dance-floor is a mass of sweating bodies dancing both freely and provocatively to techno music; strobe lights and glitter fall from the ceiling, and the base of the music thumps in time with my heart. I think it's an LSD-inspired heaven, is what I think. "It's amazing!" I shout back, and I catch the gleam of teeth and eyes as she looks at me. 

"Can you dance?" she asks. 

"Very badly," I laugh. 

"I bet you can. We  just need to get a couple more Cosmos in you."

"Are you _trying_ to get me drunk, Mills?" I tease. 

"Not drunk, Phoenix," she chuckles, " _L_ _oose_.  _Relax_ ; you're as stiff as the chair you're sitting on!" I am, so I drink. We people-watch and yell conversation back and forth until, after my third Cosmo and two shots of Vodka, she stands in front of me with my canes in her hands. The intro to New Order's  _'Bizarre Love Triangle'_ is blaring in my ears. The extended version. "I  _love_ this song! Come dance with me, please?" she says above an epic drum solo. I grin and nod. A few people part automatically, giving us space.

 _Every time I think of you,_  
_I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue._  
_It's no problem of mine,_  
_But it's a problem I find,_  
_Living a life that I can't leave behind._  
_There's no sense in telling me,_  
_The wisdom of the fool won't set you free._  
_But that's the way that it goes,_  
_And it's what nobody knows._  
_Well every day my confusion grows..._

I nod my head to the beat, doing a clumsy imitation of a two-step. Regina's hands are in the air and her head is thrown back; glitter douses her, and I can't help but think this is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. 

 _Every time I see you falling,_  
_I get down on my knees and pray._  
_I'm waiting for that final moment,_  
_You'll say the words that I can't say._  

She raises her head and looks at me.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_  
  
_I feel fine and I feel good,_  
_I'm feeling like I never should._  
_Whenever I get this way,_  
_I just don't know what to say._  
_Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday?_  
_I'm not sure what this could mean,_  
_I don't think you're what you seem._  
_I do admit to myself,_  
_That if I hurt someone else,_  
_Then I'll never see just what we're meant to be..._

She puts her arms around my neck and gives me a blinding smile. I step out of her arms, brushing it off as a dance move, still smiling... That is until a body jars into me and I'm knocked off balance so fast I can't right myself before crashing to the ground. 

 _Every time I think of you,_  
_I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue._  
_It's no problem of mine,_  
_But it's a problem I find,_  
_Living a life that I can't leave behind._  
_There's no sense in telling me,_  
_The wisdom of the fool won't set you free._  
_But that's the way that it goes,_  
_And it's what nobody knows._  
_Well every day my confusion grows..._

"Emma!" I hear, then "Asshole!" and a chorus of agreement as Regina kneels down in front of me.  _Don't look at her, don't look, don't look. All you'll see is pity. I told you she was just like Elsa._ "Phoenix?" Gentle, almost... loving. "Are you alright?" My knuckles are bleeding, and I'd bitten my lip on the way down, so that was bleeding, too. I get to my knees in answer and meekly ask for a chair. Once one is located, I place my burning hands on the seat and push up. 

"I'm really sorry," the guy says to Regina, instead of me, "I didn't mean to." I look at her when I get to my feet. She doesn't say anything, just glares at him like she wants to rip his head off. "What?" he snaps, "It's your fault for bringing someone like her here." 

" _Someone like her_?" Regina growls. I dig my nails into the foam handles of my canes. 

"Yeah, y'know..." he gestures to my canes, "A dance floor really isn't the best place for her." He won't look at me. 

I feel my blood reach its boiling point. "Who the FUCK are you to tell me where I belong, you narrow-minded piece of shit!?" I yell, my eyes burning with tears of anger and embarrassment. He blinks, like he's surprised that I can speak.

Before I can say anything more, Regina's pulling me to her side and saying "Come with me." We walk into the bathroom, and I lean my canes against the counter, wincing as I run my bloody knuckles under the sink. 

"I'm sorry," I say, meeting her dark eyes in the mirror. 

She arches a brow at me.  _Fuck, that's sexy._ " _You're_ sorry? Did you hit your head on the way down? If anyone should be sorry it's that  _asshole_ on the dance floor." I dry my hands and shake my head. She doesn't get it. "I oughta turn his tongue into a fuckin' necktie," she mutters, wetting a paper towel. "Let me see your lip." I grab my canes, turn, and lean against the counter. I catch a couple curious gazes before they flick down and away. "Don't worry about them," she says, her soft, raspy voice making me find her eyes and hold them, "They're all idiots." She dabs at my lip. I wince.

Tears well in my eyes as I look at her.  _Please stop looking at me like that. Please stop being so beautiful. Please stop making me fall for you. Just **stop**_ _._  "I'm sorry," I say again _._  A single tear trails down my cheek. 

She wipes at it. "Why?" she breaths. "Tell me why." 

I take a shuddering breath, embarrassment and  _feelings_ and a cocktail swimming in my blood. "I'm sorry I can't dance," I smirk. 

"You can, actually." 

"I'm sorry I can't - I'm sorry I'm  _me_. I'm sorry I'm standoffish, I'm sorry I run, I'm sorry I-" I say in a rush.

"Shhh," she murmurs. "You are Emma. Never, _ever_ apologize for that." I lean forward and wrap her in a hug, because words suck and I can't get them out of my throat without fearing that I'm going to sound like an idiot. Her hands feel like safety. "Emma," she murmurs in my ear, "What did she do to you?" She rubs my back, my hair. "Hmm? What did she do, Phoenix?"

"She killed me," I sob into her shoulder, because of course life had to decide that I would have _this_ breakdown now, in a bathroom in New York City while Regina Mills holds me like she's trying to glue me back together. "She made me hate myself, my CP, my body... She ruined me, Regina. She fucking  _ruined_ me! I'm... I'm broken. I'm sorry, I'm  _so_ sorry..." 

"Shhh. You're not ruined, Emma. You're not broken. You are  _beautiful_ , in every sense of the word." I sob until my throat burns, until my body relaxes and the world seems more bearable. 

"You are, too," I whisper hoarsely into her shoulder. "And just so you know," I tell her, pulling back and giving her a watery smile, "I did have a good time. You're a good dancer."

"So are you, Phoenix. So are you." 

 

* * *

 

 

I say goodnight to her timidly. She kisses my cheek as we pull apart from a hug, promises she'll see me in the morning. After she leaves, I call Ruby, sitting on my balcony and staring out at the city. The conversation goes from an excited  _"So? How was it?!"_ to a compassionate  _"Oh, Em..."_ and I bury myself in the ruins of my emotional walls and wish for Elsa and Regina, for everything and nothing, for  _peace_. "She knows, Red. She knows I have feelings. Fuck, how did this happen? This was just supposed to be a job, not Discovery Central."

"Dunno, Em. But it happened - Denying it won't help. Have either of you actually said anything?" 

"No." 

Ruby sighs. "You two are ridiculous. A writer who can't find words and a musician who _wants_ to, but doesn't. Oi." 

"It's not that simple, y'know."

"Nothin' in life ever is, Em. You know that better than anyone. That's why you gotta fight, and in this case, the only person you're fighting is you."


	8. Translations

In the weeks that follow, my dance-related embarrassment fades. I'm able to slide back into the comfortable-but-not friendship we've built. Sort of. My mind is still plagued with  dream-Elsa's taunting of  _"You **like** your stripes, don't you, baby?"  _and fear and wanting and not knowing how to  _get_.

I _want_ Elsa, I crave her. Her skin, her eyes, her moans in my ear. All this stems from love - Convoluted, fucked-up love - I know that, but it cloaks itself in rage and lust and  _anger._ I imagine her bed-springs creaking as I fuck her, hard and fast and unforgiving. I imagine her begging me not to stop, with tears in her eyes as I push her beyond her limits. I imagine her saying  _"You're hurting me_ _,"_ and a cruel gleam entering my eyes as I reply:  _"Like you hurt me? Doesn't it feel good, baby? Hmm?  I told you I remembered your body. She can't fuck you like this, can she? **ANSWER ME!** "  _

I would rejoice in her pain then, in her tears and whimpers and  _"I'm sorries."_

 _" **Mine**_ _,"_ I imagine growling against her mouth, the old word sparking something passionate inside her. Something only  _I_ can give.

 _"Yours. I'm sorry, Emma. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."_ Her hands would cup my face, her mouth would find mine, and she'd forgive me for hurting her because she would  _understand_ where all this was coming from. She'd love me, canes and all. 

 _"I love you,"_ I'd tell her hoarsely.

And instead of answering with _"I know_ ," she'd grace me with one of her beautiful smiles and her old, heart-felt, passionate  _"I love you too, baby."_ She'd make the voices of self-doubt stop.  _Regina's helping. She cares for you. It's pointless, I'm no good like this. She doesn't want me. I'm nothing. I'm a worthless, overly-clinging piece of shit. Stop it. Stop it! **Regina** cares about you,  **Elsa** doesn't give a damn what happens to you. She's with Anna, or did you forget that part since you've been busy wallowing in your mud-puddle of self-pity? _ I take off my glasses and rub at the bridge of my nose. I'd been at my desk for - I check the computer's clock - an hour and forty-five minutes, and I'd barely made any progress on the bio. I sigh.  _So much for writing._ I pick up my cell, and text Regina. 

_Hi. :-)_

She doesn't reply for an hour, so I use the time to shower and wash the thought of Elsa away. My phone pings as I'm drying my hair, my skin already beginning to cool in the well-conditioned room. Placing my towel around my neck, I pick up my cell and grin at the message. 

_**Hey you :) ~R.** _

_Good day?_

**_Yes, actually. Word's gotten out about the new album; Gold's ecstatic and so are the guys. I have an interview with the Today Show in a couple weeks_** **_. ~R._ **

_Congratulations, Gina._ :-) 

**_*Raises eyebrow* ~R._ **

_What? *Grinning emoji*_

_**I haven't been called Gina since my college days. ~R.**  
_

I can practically hear the amusement in her voice and chuckle aloud.  _I figured you needed a nickname, too._

**_Careful, Phoenix, nicknames are serious things, you know *teasing smile* ~R._ **

 I feel my heart speed up, then twist.  _Fuck, I'm in trouble. I know,_ I type back, adding a smiling emoji to keep the mood light. What I really mean is: Yes. Yes, I know we have this  _thing_ between us that I can't name, because if I do it makes it real, and real is terrifying and unsafe and in the place where all my insecurities dwell. 

 _**Good ;) ~R.**_

I don't reply, and for the rest of the afternoon I'm torn between fear and trying to figure out the meaning behind that damn winky face - more accurately, what I  _want_ it to mean. I do feel better though, I realize. The depression that had hung like a fog for the last couple days is less tangible now. So what if I have to deal with my heart beating out of my chest every time Regina smiles at me, or touches me, or texts me? So what if it's terrifying and I want to run and collapse into her arms at the same time? So  _ **what**?  _ Isn't that better than loving a woman who wants nothing to do with me?  _Well, that's the real question, isn't it, Swan? Now you just have to find the answer, and pray you don't fuck anything up in the process._

 

* * *

 

 

"You're brooding again." I look up from my dinner. Regina's right fist is resting on her cheek, and she's looking at me with a smile at the edge of her mouth. "Are all authors this broody, or is it just you?"

I give a wry laugh. "I'm not that bad, am I Gina?" I ask, liking the way her shortened name sounds in my mouth. "At least I'm not Poe, with his _"I lie down by the side of my darling -my darling - my life and my bride, in her sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea,"_   I recite in my best over-dramatic Shakespearean voice. Regina's shoulders shake with silent laughter at my antics. "That's a bit much, even for me. Granted, ' _The Painter'_ didn't end on the highest of notes, but at least no one died of pneumonia." 

"I'll give you that," she says, beaming. 

I grin and lean back in my chair, opening my arms and shrugging my left shoulder because my right won't move."See? Not broody." Translation:  _I'm okay; at least for now. I'm getting better. Look, I'm even smiling, and this time it doesn't hurt._

"I didn't say it was a bad look on you, Phoenix. It adds to your charm. I just wonder what you're thinking." 

 _Did she just call me charming?_ I bite back a smile. "I'll tell you." She archers a brow. "You think they have raspberry cheesecake here?"  

"You are a tease, Emma Swan." 

"Gotta keep ya on your toes. Else you'd find another author."  _Foot, meet mouth._ "I mean..." 

Regina holds up a hand. I snap my mouth shut. "You worry too much, you know that?" I nod. "I'll keep saying it until you believe me, Emma.  _You_ are my favorite author, and you're quickly becoming one of my favorite people." 

Slowly, I reach for her hand. "Thank you," I mummer, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs. **_Run._** _No. **She's going to throw you away! Don't be stupid.** I'm not. She cares, and even if I get hurt in the end, this feeling, terrifying as it is, is nice. When's the last time Elsa looked at me like this?   **She used to, until she gutted you.**_ In answer, Regina's hand turns, and she wraps her fingers around mine. Pressing our palms together, she smiles.  _Translation: I'm here._ I squeeze her fingers.  _I know._

An hour later, I'm in bed scrolling through Twitter. Regina had tweeted about the new album, and now the entire site was buzzing. I read some of the comments. They're mostly from teens and young women, saying things like **_Omg, I LOVE HER!_** with three heart emoji's in a row, plus one heart-eyes smiley face. And: ** _REGGIE!!! #LongLiveTheQueen_** and  _ **So glad you're making new music! Can't WAIT for the album!**_

I fall asleep with a smile on my face. For once, I don't dream of Elsa; I dream of nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

 

"Emma!" The banging on my door makes me jolt awake. " _Emma_!" When Regina's voice registers, it's full of panic. Scrambling to the door, I fling it open. I'm not prepared for the sight in front of me. Her cheeks are tear-stained and her eyes are red-rimmed; her hair's uncombed. This is bad. I've never seen this side of her, so undone and shaken, and it startles me. 

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" I sputter, adrenaline taking the fog of sleep away. In answer, she flings herself at me, wrapping her arms around me like I'm the only solid, tangible thing she recognizes, or _wants_ to recognize. I tense my body purposefully, to keep myself standing and to soften the impact of her pressed so tightly against me.  I wrap both my arms around her and squeeze, my canes hanging from my wrists. "I'm right here," I murmur. "You're okay. I've got you." She trembles, says nothing. "Regina... What happened? What's wrong?" 

"Dad," she rasps. I feel the cold hand of fear creep down my spine.  _Shit._ "Heart attack." _Double shit._ "Hospital - I - I have to go." I nod, gripping one cane and rubbing her back with my free hand. _That'll teach you never to get too close - they always leave for one reason or another. **Shut. Up.**_

"Of course," I whisper, my voice a little thicker than I intend. 

She sniffles, laughs an embarrassed little laugh into my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says, pulling away and wiping her eyes with shaking fingers, "I guess I should have called first."

"No, no it's okay. When did you - Um, when did you get the news?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. I took a taxi here. I know you were sleeping, I just..."

 _I'm the first person she came to._ The thought warms me, makes me want to pull her back into my arms and say something stupid, like  _You really_ _ **do** feel safe with me, don't you? _ or  _Somehow, you make even pain look beautiful._ Instead, I say: "Gina," in the most affectionate voice I possess, and cup her cheek, wiping at her tears with my thumb. "It's alright." It's easier; saving instead of being saved. She wraps her fingers around my wrist, holds my palm steady against her cheek. 

"Come with me." 

"I - what?" 

"Come  _with me_ Emma. Please."  _Well, what else are you gonna do, Swan?  Wait around for Miss 'I never want to speak to you again?'  Hell, it's probably **Mrs.** by now. And it's not like you know anyone in this city... Plus the idea of being without Regina is... fucking depressing. _

"Are you sure?" I can't help but double-check, because is she  _really_ asking this of me? "You want  _me_ to go with you?" Translation:  _Holy. Shit._

"Yes, _you_." She gives me a watery half-smile, removes my hand from her face. "Please."

I nod. "I wouldn't want you to go through this alone," I say, my heart thudding at the look in her eyes, "Of course I'll come with you." I receive a warm, one-armed squeeze in response. She helps me pack, grabbing my toiletries from the bathroom while I wrestle underwear and clothes into my backpack, and fifteen minutes later we're meeting Leroy out front. "Are - Are you alright?" I ask as we drive off. It's undoubtedly the wrong thing to say, as I have no experience with _any of this_ , but the air in the limo is stale with worry and I have to say  _something_ , because this stillness is doing nothing but making Regina grind her teeth.

"I don't know," she mutters, not looking up from her cell. I glance at the screen. She's trying to get Kathryn to take care of her dog, Hannah, for God knows how long. That was the thing about family emergencies, they always left you scrambling for order. "I'll feel better once we get to the hospital, I think." 

"It's going to be okay." I squeeze her shoulder.  _I don't know if it's going to be, but if it's not, I'll be here_ , I silently promise her.

 

* * *

 

 

A cycle starts and stays for the entire plane ride. Regina holds my hand in a vice-grip, my thumb strokes her knuckles, and she relaxes, only to tense up again when a thought clouds her eyes and her face pales. Thankfully, I'm so caught up in trying to calm her that my own anxiety stays quiet, and I don't have to search in my bag for Benadryl or my daily one-hundred milligrams of Zoloft. "Breathe," I murmur gently as her face pales again, "Just breathe with me. Deep breath - hold it for three seconds. Good. Again." And so the process repeats, until she's slumped against me, her cheek resting on my shoulder. I resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead, I tell her stories. Stories about Granny's and how I used to spend every day after school at the counter, drinking hot coco with whipped cream and cinnamon, and how I had been such a sucker for the waitress, Jasmine, that I'd written her a love poem on the back of a napkin and slipped it in with the bill. 

Regina laughs at that. "I'm sure she thought it was sweet," she says sleepily, yawning. I stop talking then, letting her fall asleep against me. _This is better,_  I think.  _Better than meeting a blue-eyed woman online who promises you everything, but then breaks your heart. Better than "Well **I** love you, do you have a problem with that?" _ _Better than hurting every day, **wanting** her every day, after a year and knowing she'll never love you back, despite her saying "I'm gonna marry you one day, Emma Swan." Better. _

I give in and press my lips to the crown of Regina's head.

“Phoenix?” A breath in my ear, a nudge. Groaning, I request five more minutes of sleep. “Phoenix, we've landed. A friend of mine is here to take us to the hospital." Opening my eyes, I blink against the harshness of light. My heart gives a pang when I focus on Regina's face; warm brown eyes and a smile that is small, but genuine despite the pain of her current situation. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," she murmurs. 

 

* * *

 

 

The ride to Inova Loudoun Hospital is quiet, for the most part. Zelena West, I learn through tense small talk, is Regina's oldest friend. They'd been friends all through high school, and had tried to remain so in college, but, as is the case with life, they'd drifted to pursue their own dreams. "And now you're back, though if I'm honest, darling, I do wish it was under less dire circumstances. I know how much the codger means to you." Her sympathetic blue eyes found Regina's face in the mirror. "Chin up, love. He's a tough old bird, I'm sure he'll be fine." 

Regina bites her lip and looks out the window. Her phone pings a few seconds later. "Regina," she reads the text aloud, her voice choked with emotion, "Your father is fine. He is currently in recovery. He is weak but stable. I shall see you when you arrive - Mother." 

"See?" I grin, "He's gonna be fine." 

"Oh thank God," she breaths, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes. 

When we get to the hospital, she bolts. "Go on," I tell her when she stops half-way out of the car, "I'll be there in a few." With a grateful nod and small smile, she takes off again. Five minutes later, Zelena and I are sitting in the waiting room. 

"I didn't get a chance to ask you, Miss Swan, have you ever written a biography before?"

"Emma, please. And no, I haven't. Regina was rather insistent I be the one to write it, though."

"Interesting." She holds out a packet of Juicy Fruit. "Gum? I'd much rather a cig, honestly, but," she shrugs,"C'est ce que ç'est." 

I chuckle and take a piece. "If I smoked, I'd agree with you." Zelena smiles. "I have to ask, when Regina read that text aloud; has her mother _always_ been so... Cold?"

"Afraid so. She is a very uppity woman, Cora. Dreadful for Regina. You know, I don't recall her mother ever embracing her... Poor lamb."

My eyes widen. "But Regina's so... warm. So kind." 

"Thanks to her father, I imagine. That man would move mountains for her, I don't doubt." I smile, happy to hear that at least one of her parents loves her unconditionally. Just then, Regina comes down the hall, followed by Cora Mills herself. Her eyes are sharp and dark, holding none of her daughter's warmth. Her chestnut hair is shoulder length, perfectly coiffed, and her thin mouth is settled in a grim red line. She wears a tailored business suit, white beneath purple, and holds herself so rigidly I doubt she ever relaxes. I push myself up by the arm of the chair and stand, clutching one cane in my left hand tightly.

Regina beams at me. "He's going to stay here for a few days, but he's going to be okay."

"That's grand, darling!" Zelena chirps from beside me. 

"Indeed," Cora replies, as her eyes fix on my face.

"Mother, this is Emma. Emma, mother," Regina introduces with a tightness in her expression I've never seen before.  

" _You're_ the writer?" she says in a tone I can only describe as haughty. "How...Unusual. Regina, I was expecting someone a bit more...  _Qualified_."

Tensing, I keep my smile firmly in place and offer my hand. "Yes Ma'am. Emma Swan. You don't need to worry, I graduated top of my class. It's a pleasure to meet you." She eyes my hand and makes no move to shake it. I can tell from the way her gaze keeps straying from my face to my canes that she thinks I'm merely a disabled woman riding on the coattails of her daughter's charity, not an accomplished author, and it pisses me off.  _You really **are** a bitch of the first order. No wonder Regina left. _I drop my hand and grab my other cane. 

Cora gives a thin-lipped smile. "I'm sure you did,  _dear_." Her patronizing tone makes me grind my teeth. 

"Well," Zelena says, standing, "I hate to leave this _wonderful_ reunion, but I must be off. Robyn is waiting for her Mama. Regina, dear, it was  _so_ good to see you again." A terse nod was given in response. 

"I'll walk you out," I say quickly. I see Regina glaring daggers at her mother as I pass. A gentle hand brushes my arm. Zelena and I pause outside, just under the hospital's roof. 

"I'm sorry, Emma."

"Don't be, it's not your fault the woman's a bitch. I'm just glad Regina has one person in her life that's solid."

A smirk. "True, but I apologize for her behavior nonetheless. Ghastly, she is." Her expression turns thoughtful. "It would appear she has you as well."

"She does." 

Zelena smiles, wrapping me in a light hug. "I'm glad to hear it. Take care of her, darling. You will, won't you?" 

"I promise," I mummer. _I promise._


	9. A Goodnight Kiss

"Absolutely not." 

Cora sighs. "Regina, you're being obtuse. Your father will want you home while he heals." 

"Emma and I will stay in a hotel - I'll visit him every day."

"With what vehicle? This is not New York, darling. You cannot simply hail a cab." I stand under the hospital's eave, watching them go back and forth.  _Jesus, it's like a fucking tennis match, with insults to boot._ Regina opens her mouth, closes it, realizes her mother's right, and scowls. Cora smiles triumphantly. "Grab the bags, dear," she says, walking off toward the car. Regina glares at her, then turns to me, eyes instantly softening.  

"She got to you. I'm sorry, Phoenix."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. I could see how tense you were. Don't pay her any mind, you hear me? She doesn't know how talented you are." Nodding, I reach up and squeeze her shoulder. 

"Doesn't matter." She raises one black eyebrow. "Okay, it  _does_ , but  _doesn't_. I mean,  _shouldn't_ \- Shit, never mind. What's important is that you'll get to spend time with your old man. That's all that really counts, right? And trust me when I tell you I've stomached far worse than someone questioning my  _qualifications_. It's alright, Gina." I flash a reassuring grin, "Besides, now you'll get to show me your childhood home, and what bio would be complete without pictures of gap-toothed you?" The idea of seeing said pictures warms my heart. 

Regina sighs in half-hearted defended annoyance. " _Only_ because you're my favorite author - I wouldn't torture anyone else with those photos."

I laugh as she picks up the bags and we head to the car. "Thanks... I think." She winks in reply.  

 

* * *

 

It's a two-story, white farmhouse situated on God-knows how many acres of land. Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it. The driveway's long, twisting once around a bend of pines, then straightening and giving way to a dark wood fence. As we park, I notice how beautiful it is out here, how open. The sunset paints the sky in warm pinks and blues, and, weirdly enough, the house feels homey from the outside, bathed as it is in pale light. Regina nudges my shoulder. I smile at her, and we share a look that translates to  _I bet you can't believe I came from a place like this,_ and  _No, I really can't. It's so... un-Regina-ish._ Swallowing, I lick my lips and force words out of my throat. "You... have a lovely home, Mrs. Mills." 

Cora's sharp eyes find my gaze in the review. "Thank you, dear. Regina, grab the bags, will you?" she says, before turning off the engine and slipping out of the car. 

"Well, that was... intense," I mutter, scratching the nape of my neck. "Are you... alright?"

Regina shrugs. "I've learned to numb my reactions... Mostly."

I nod. "I'm not... Exactly what your Mom was expecting. I can understand why she would-"

"Don't you dare, Emma Swan. She has no right to brush you off, and if you tell me otherwise I'll push you out've this damn car. Capisce?" 

A chuckle escapes my throat, and I squeeze her shoulder once. "Aye-aye, Cap'in."

* * *

  
"You were so  _cute_!" I say, grinning down at the black-and-white photo dated July 15th, 1988. A smiling Henry is holding a just-born Regina in his arms, swaddled and content. There's a close up of her face on the next page, squinty-eyed and screaming. Underneath that, her birth certificate.  
  
_**Regina Elizabeth Mills - 6lbs, 14 ounces.**_

"Elizabeth?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from the documented life in my lap.

"My great-grandmother."

"Ah."  
  
She flexes her legs, repositions herself on the four-poster bed covered in a homemade patch-work quilt, sitting Indian-style next to me. The squares of the quilt, a red, white and blue pattern, match the cream-colored walls of the room. To the far left, against one of the many windows, is an oak writing desk. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf takes up most of the right wall.  A stereo sits on top of a dresser, next to a stack of CD's. Her bedroom is a lot sparser than I thought it would be, but why would you keep sentimental things in a house that you have no love for? "What about you, hmm?" she murmurs, nudging me. "You have an embarrassing middle name I should know about?" 

I laugh. "Thankfully, no. It's Nolan, my grandfather's last name. Swan was my grandmother's."

"Emma Nolan Swan... I like it."  _Say it again.... Fuck why does her voice **do** this to me?!  It sounds like liquor and smoke... like sex in a damn bottle! And **why** does she have to say my name so... tenderly?  It's not helping my resolve, Mills. Argh. Fuckin'  **feelings**!  **You're more pathetic than I thought, Swan. Getting a hard-on for her fucking voice? You sound like a thirteen year-old boy about to cream your goddamn pants!**_ _Fuck off. There's more to it than that. **Yeah, like the fact that you luv her. You wanna make her scream, don't you? Wanna make her beg? Do you honestly think, that if you make her come hard enough, moan loud enough, it'll drown out Elsa's whimpering? News flash: It won't. You can try though.**_ _ **Go on, kiss her. Fuck her. Hurt her like Elsa hurt you. It's only fair, right?** She deserves more than that, and Elsa wasn't a bad person.  **Oh, right. Like leaving you for the one thing you can't control isn't fucking cruel. I call bullshit.**_

I swallow. "I don't think Elizabeth is all that bad."

She snorts. "It isn't... Until people get wind of your first girlfriend in high school and start calling you 'Lizzy the Lezzy.'" Regina rolls her eyes. "You'd think they would've had something more original." 

"You'd think," I agree, and silence fills the room again as I flip through photographs, Regina's chin resting on my shoulder. I stop as I come across a picture of a gap-toothed four year old in a tutu and ballet slippers. "A  _tutu_ , Regina? Really?" 

She nips my shoulder. I shudder. "I'm  _sure_ Mary Margret has pictures of you in the fluffiest of dresses, _Miss Swan_. No judging." 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck-fuck._ "Fine," I puff out, smiling. "Who's this?" I point to a chestnut horse standing next to a seven year old Regina, its large black eyes intent on the camera. 

" _That_ ," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice, "Was Rocinante. My best friend growing up."

"What happened to her?" I ask quietly. 

She sighs and it heats my cheek. "Mother sold her when I was sixteen. Said it wasn't right for me to ride, not when I was bringing her so much shame due to my  _lifestyle choice_." And just like that, my hatred for the woman becomes boundless. I grit my teeth, and I know my body tenses in rage, because Regina instantly tries to soothe me. 

"Emma, it's-" 

"Don't you dare say fine, Regina!" I seethe. "I can't believe she - you didn't deserve - FUCK THAT SHIT!" I'm so mad I'm shaking. I wanna kill that woman. Crush her ungrateful, homophobic throat with my hands. 

"Phoenix," she mutters, pressing her lips to my cheek, "Don't." 

"Is that how you got the scar on your lip?" I whisper in a quavering voice. "Did she do that to you?" 

"Yes." 

I want to cry from the injustice of it all. That, I guess, is the curse of being an empath. _Is it a gift or a curse to feel everything so deeply? Maybe both_. "It's not right," I tell her, staring down at the photo. 

"No, it isn't."

"I'd buy you a horse," I mutter a few seconds later. "I'd buy you a pasture full of them."

Regina laughs, low and warm in my ear. "I know you would, but I don't think they'd fit in my apartment."

Laughing, I turn the page in the album, relieved that the tension eases a little. It's a picture of Henry kneeling in front of his daughter, who's sitting at a kitchen table with an acoustic guitar in her hands. Henry's own hand is a tan blur as he positions Regina's fingers on the fret board. Her head is bent, hair in a long black pony-tail. I check the date. She'd been eight. "I love this."

"Me too." The next photo is dated  _ **June 20th, 2004**_ in Regina's own hand writing. She's leaning up against a wall, one booted foot pressed to the flat surface, one hand shoved into her left jean pocket. The index and middle finger of her right hand, painted with a solid coat of black nail-polish, are parted, making a 'V', which she has her tongue stuck through. A perfect eyebrow arches, and her eyes burn into the camera. On top of that, she's wearing a Marilyn Manson T-shirt, which has the cover of his album  _Holy Wood_ on it. 

"Well," I say a little roughly, "Someone was angsty."  

"Mmm... Isn't every sixteen year old?" she murmurs. 

I nod, still staring at the intensity in teenage Regina's eyes. _What **is** that look? Pain?  No... Lust? Both?_  "Who took this?" I whisper, wondering who in the hell could illicit such a response from her. 

"Rachel Cummings. My first girlfriend. I was staying at her house for the summer. Her parents weren't home for that shot, luckily." She chuckles, remembering. 

An idea strikes me. "Could you recreate this for the cover? Minus the Manson T-shirt, and black nails," I laugh, "We could split it in two - Show both sides, y'know? The girl and the rocker she turned into." 

"You aren't just a pretty face, Emma Swan," Regina beams.   


* * *

 

Going down the stairs for dinner is a pain, but Regina is gentle and patient as I make my decent, offering a smile at my embarrassed expression. My left hand is on her shoulder, my left cane gripped in her free hand while I use my right to navigate the narrow and steep steps. This close, the smell of her - just her - makes my heart thump a little too fast against my ribs. Cora, hearing the hard thumps on her stairwell, comes in from the dining room to watch the spectacle. I'm used to people watching me, and usually think little of it, but something about how Cora gazes at me makes my fingers clamp a little tighter around her daughter's shoulder.

_ I'm not a bug, you homophobic, narcissistic, horse-selling piece of sh-  _

"Terribly sorry about the inconvenience, dear," she says with all the sincerity of a fucking Cheshire cat. "I know it must be hard... With your...  _condition_ and all." 

I watch Regina's face tighten as I right myself at the bottom of the stairs. I open my mouth to say something, but Regina beats me to it. She hands me back my cane and says tightly "Emma does just fine, Mother. She's not helpless." Cora doesn't reply, there's a tightness to her mouth that makes my blood boil. 

_ If you weren't Gina's mother, I'd make you swallow your own teeth. _ The older Mills turns her back and goes to the dining room. Regina is pressed against me still, her hand resting lightly between my shoulder blades. "Let's get this over with, hmm?"  she breaths in my ear, "I can only endure small talk with her for a maximum of twenty minutes." I chuckle quietly. She smiles before putting a soft kiss a little closer to my mouth than before. It's a quick peck, but I still feel the familiar-but-not tingling in my body. 

I want to kiss her back, and she pauses, looks at me like  _Show me **something.**_ But I don't, because  _Present company_ and  _nerves_ and  _Why would she want me?_ and...  _ **Elsa**. _

**_ Goddammit. _**

* * *

 

"I think that was the most awkward dinner I have  _ever_ had the displeasure of experiencing," I mutter to the ceiling of the spare bedroom while Regina strums her guitar. I'd had wine and now my chest was warm and my mouth less guarded. "Did she interrogate Rachel like that when you brought her home?" 

Regina snorts. "Dad was there - he played Switzerland rather well." She pauses. "Emma?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Would you... like to meet him tomorrow?" I sit up, my back protesting the whole time. Her eyes are downcast, focusing on the fret board instead of me. She's biting her lip. When I take too long to answer, she adds hurriedly "I know you've got to work on the bio, but I figured this beat being imprisoned with my mother. You don't have to, I just thought-" 

"Gina?" Brown eyes hold mine. "I'd like to. I'd like to meet the man who means so much to you." She smiles brightly, rests the guitar against the writing desk and walks across the room. 

She's standing between my legs when she cups my face with both hands. "Emma..." The rings on her fingers are so cold against my cheeks. "Do you know how much you mean to me?" Her voice is velvety, and my brain almost stops when her words - when this _situation_ \- registers. 

"How much?" I rasp. 

Her thumb traces my lip. "More than you realize," she whispers. The kiss - or the waiting for it, or both? - happens in slow motion. It's slow and gentle and goes from a lingering peck to an open-mouthed moan. She pulls away slowly when it ends, glassy-eyed. I blink, lick my lips, blink again. 

"What was that?" I whisper.   


"What do you want it to be, Phoenix?" 

"More than a goodnight kiss, or a thank you, or... _anything_." 

"More?" Her voice was rough now, and holy  _God_ it was hot. 

I nod. "More," I breath, leaning up and pressing my lips to hers. 


	10. Father Figure

Regina kisses me goodnight with a gleam in her eyes. Grinning, I wrap my arms around her waist. "Don't go," I murmur into the warmth of her stomach. I'm still reeling and dizzy and suspiciously, dangerously happy, and we'd done nothing more than share a few experimental nips. 

"Mmm... And what do you think Mother would say to that, hmm?" 

I raise my eyes to her face, my chin pressed into her shirt. She cups my cheek and smiles so warmly it makes my chest ache. "That the crippled author, who according to her has no business writing, seduced her daughter?" I tease lightly. 

Her thumb passes over my mouth. "Bingo. And if anything like that _ever_ left her mouth, I'd have to go to jail." She leans down to whisper in my ear: "And I  _hate_ the color orange."

I laugh and give her a gentle push towards the door, effectively separating us. She grins and gives me a wink before gently closing the door behind her. As soon as it's shut I fall back onto the bed, staring with disbelief at the ceiling. "What the actual FUCK just happened?" I mutter aloud. 

**_You let yourself be an idiot, that's what happened. How stupid ARE you, Swan?!_ **

_Fuck. Off. I don't need this shit right now. Regina cares about me. She wouldn't have kissed me if she didn't._

**_You ever stop to think that maybe she just feels SORRY for you, like everyone else? What if she's just using you, hmm? What then?_ **

Sighing, I ignore the voice of fear in my head and settle into bed. Touching my fingers to my lips, I fall asleep wondering if Regina is doing the same thing. 

 

* * *

 

  _"Lookin' out... on the mornin' rain,_  
_I used to feel so uninspired._  
_And when I knew, I had to face another day,_  
_Lord it made me feel so tired..._  
_Before the day I met you, life was so unkind,_  
_but you're the key to my peace of mind._  
_'Cause you make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural_  
_woman..."_

Regina's soft voice makes me pause at the top of the stairs; my bladder protests vehemently. I smile as I hear the rattle of plates and her singing be replaced by whistling. "What in God's name are you doing?" I wince at the sound of Cora's voice. 

A scoff follows the question. "Good morning to you too, Mother." 

"Regina, darling you can't be serious. Don't tell me you actually have  _feelings_ for that girl." I grit my teeth. 

"She isn't a _girl_ , Mother. She's a twenty-seven year old woman. And whether or not I have feelings for her is no concern of yours." 

"Regina, she's... she's an _invalid_! You can't possibly-" 

"I can't what, Mother?" she hisses dangerously, "I can't  _what_?" 

"Take  _care_ of her." A pause, then, in a softer tone: "Darling, you have to see how foolish this is..."

"It isn't Emma's body that needs to be taken care of, it's her heart. Though, I wouldn't mind taking care of that, too." She adds the last part with an impish sort of tone, meant to provoke, but I still feel a knot form in my lower belly. 

"Regina!" Cora seethes at her daughter's boldness, "How  _dare_ you! If your father could hear you-" 

"He'd  _understand_! He'd see Emma as a person and not some inconvenient piece of trash! She's brilliant, Mother, and so kind..." A sigh. "Christ, this is exactly why I left." 

"Language!" I roll my eyes at the reprimand.  _Fuck. You._

"Whether you like it or not, she deserves to be taken care of. I'm not doing this because I have to, or because I feel obligated, I'm doing it because I  _want_ to. Now, kindly leave me to finish breakfast." Angry footsteps receded moments later, giving way to the slamming of a door. I flinch due to my startle reflex. _Thanks, bitch._

When I come out of the bathroom, Regina's waiting for me on the edge of the bed, breakfast in hand. "Morning, Sunshine," she says, giving me a charm-filled grin. "You hungry?" 

I smile. "Always." I settle on the bed and she carefully maneuvers the tray to me; I place it gingerly in the crook of my bent left leg. "Thank you," I mutter quietly, meeting her warm eyes over the rim of my coffee cup. "You didn't have to." 

She shrugs one shoulder. "I wanted to." 

Swallowing a bite of bacon, I ask: "Did you eat?"  

"A little. I wanted to get the food in your belly relatively quickly. We can leave as soon as you're ready." I nod, focusing now on my eggs. "She didn't wake you up, did she?" I shake my head. "You heard us, didn't you? Fuck. Emma, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault your mother thinks so little of me. Most people do." 

"I don't," she says softly.

I'm putting my fork down and kissing her cheek before I can think not to. "I know." 

 

* * *

 

Henry Mills is everything I picture him to be. Though seventy, he has an exuberance to him and a warmth to his eyes that tells me age matters very little in the scheme of things. I see immediately where Regina gets her fire from, her goodness. I'm happy that, for the most part, the light he has given to his daughter has not been extinguished by Cora, or the trials of her own life. I watch them quietly from just inside the hospital room's doorway, my heart warming at Regina's gentle "Hi, Daddy," and the sight of his thin arms wrapping around her neck, the kiss he puts to her cheek.  

"How are you, il mio piccolo passero?" he asks. His voice has a pleasant gravely lit to it. 

Regina's voice is watery when she replies. "I'm okay, Daddy." She straights and I see her hands lift to wipe her eyes. She clears her throat. "I um... I brought someone to meet you." 

"So I see," he murmurs.  Regina shifts, moves so that two sets of identical brown eyes settle on me. I swallow, grip my cane handles a little harder than necessary. I walk to the edge of his bed and offer my brightest smile. "You are the writer. Emma. Regina told me of you when she first visited." I look at her, watch her tan cheeks light with a blush before I turn my gaze back to Henry. 

"Yes, sir, I am." I extend my hand and he shakes it, his grip comforting and solid. 

"She tells me your words are beautiful." 

I feel heat rise up my neck. "Your daughter is too kind."

"Ah, but she comes by it honestly! Il mio piccolo passero knows beauty." 

"Yes, though she too often discounts her own."

"So do you, it would seem."

Regina laughs softly beside me. "Daddy, don't scare her off." She leans down and whispers something in his ear, so low I can't hear, and his eyes gleam in response. The wrinkles under his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

"Fine, fine," he says, chuckling. 

"Phoenix, I'm going to grab a coffee, do you want one?" she asks, straightening once more.

"Uh, sure."

"Daddy? Straight black, right?" He nods. Regina moves to the other end of the room, grabs a chair, pulls it to me. I sit gratefully, completely aware of Henry's eyes on us. "I'll be right back," she squeezes my left shoulder thoughtfully, looks at her father. "Try to keep the embarrassing childhood memories to a minimum, will you?"

"Less stories make for a much shorter bio," I tease, "And what's a good story without a few laughs, anyway?" 

She narrows her eyes playfully at me. "You're evil."

I laugh. "To the quick." She smirks and slips from the room, leaving me alone with her father.  _Oh boy._

"You are good for her," he says after a moment. "I haven't seen her smile like that in years."

"I... Thank you, sir. She's been good for me, too." His gaze has the same effect as hers - I feel like he's seeing _through_ me, and I can't hide.  _Hiding is for cowards. You don't wanna be a coward anymore, do you? No, but... Hiding keeps you safe, right? Newsflash: You stopped being safe a long time ago. At least the "I'll never let another heart touch mine because I'm trying to convince myself that I'm a badass" kind of safe._

"You care for my daughter, don't you, Emma Swan?" he whispers, ageless eyes intent on my face.  

"Yes. Very much."

"You haven't told her?" 

"Not... directly, sir. I... I am afraid I'm not worthy enough for her." 

He smiles. "The very fact that you said that proves that you are."

I finally look up from my linked hands settled in my lap. "Sir?" 

"You are not cocky. You recognize that you have faults, That is good. It keeps you humble." A coughing fit racks him, and I reach for the plastic cup of water on his bedside table and hand it to him. He takes it and I notice the thickness of his hand, his square fingers, the age spots and thinning skin. I think of all the tears those hands must've wiped from Regina's eyes, and my respect for him grows ten-fold. 

"Regina is very lucky to have a father like you," I tell him suddenly, not thinking. 

Surprise etches itself into the grooves of his eyebrows, then it's replaced by the crinkling of skin under his eyes as he gives a closed-lipped smile. "She's lucky to have a friend like you. Speaking of, here's a story for you..." 

I'm so engrossed by his story - The very first time Regina tried horseback riding, and how close she was to Rocinante - that I tense a little at the familiar hand on my shoulder. "Sorry," she murmurs, and hands me a cup of coffee. "I put ice in it to cool it off some; I remember you saying you had a hard time with hot things." My chest aches with gratitude. _It really is the small things..._

I take a sip. It's just warm enough. "Perfect."

"I put six packets of sugar and seven of cream, so it should be! I swear, I've never met anyone with a sweet-tooth like you!" 

Henry raises a brow as his daughter hands him his black bean water.  _How can he even **drink** that? Ugh. _"Right, except for Daddy's obsession with maple cookies," she laughs. "It rivals your love of cheesecake, Phoenix. I guess Mother had good reason to fuss at you for eating so many." Henry looks sheepish. 

We talk for about an hour before a nurse comes in to check Henry's vitals and give him medicine meant to help with plaque buildup. Regina stands and says we should get going, and I agree. I have to photocopy those pictures to Ingrid for safe keeping, and Regina needs to ask Gold about a photo-shoot for the cover, not to mention the work needing to be done on the bio itself... And Regina's upcoming album. My head starts to spin as more and more things are added to my mental To-Do list. Regina seems to catch onto my mood and her hand finds my shoulder again. A squeeze.  _It's okay._

My hand rests on top of hers for a moment.  _I believe you._

 

* * *

"What did he call you?" 

She brakes at a red light and flashes me a smile. "My little sparrow. It's his nickname for me."

"I didn't know you knew Italian." 

"I have many skills." 

I scoff. "Okay, Xena. Is there anything you  _can't_ do?" 

"Mmmm, yup." 

"Like what?" I ask, turning in mock exasperation to face her. 

My nose barely brushes hers, and she chuckles low and soft. "I can't take my eyes off you." 

"Gina," I breathe, pressing my lips to hers heavily. She opens her mouth, letting out a moan as my tongue slips inside.  _Oh_ _ **God**_! My left hand finds its way into the thick mass of her black hair, and I hear myself let out a whimper.  _Fuck._ A horn honks from behind us, forcing us to separate, and I open my eyes just in time to see her glazed eyes and flushed face before she turns back to the road. 

**_This is bad._ **

_But **so** good. _

**_You're playing with fire._**

_Maybe this time it won't burn me._


	11. Growing, Shrinking, & Growing Again

The next three days pass in a work-fulled frenzy. Both of us are so busy we hardly notice Cora's cutting glances at the table, which is about the only time we see her. The rest of our time is balanced between working in Regina's old room - her sitting on the bed with her guitar and pad and pen, and me on the other end of the room, typing away on my laptop - and visiting Henry. Cracking my knuckles and shutting off my computer, I swivel the chair around and look at her. She's sitting cross-legged, guitar balanced in her lap and pen between her teeth as she scans the loose papers beside her. _Gorgeous as usual_ , I think with a tiny smile. 

"Regina?" 

"Hmm?" She takes the pen from her mouth and looks up, teeth flashing. 

I take a deep breath. "There's... a favor I need to ask." 

"Okay..." she says slowly. 

"Would you...Shit," I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off the impending embarrassment. "Forget it," I mumble, opening my eyes and forcing a smile. "It's... not a big deal." She frowns, sets her guitar down.

"Emma? What is it? You can tell me." 

I grit my teeth.  _Fuck, here goes any chance of modesty. Goddammit._ "Would you... help me in the shower?" I say without looking at her, modification twisting in my gut. "I mean, your Dad's coming home today and it isn't accessible, I mean it would be if there was a shower chair or a bench or something, but-" I stop, shrug my one good shoulder helplessly. "You don't have to," I tell her quietly. 

"Phoenix," she murmurs with that same deep sweetness that makes my eyes burn, "I don't mind." 

 _ **Neither did Elsa, in the beginning.** Would you STOP! Regina's nothing like her.  **I'm just stating facts. It's not MY fault you can't get your shit together and see her for who she really is.**_ "R-Really?" 

She nods, stands, and walks to where I'm sitting. "Do you trust me?" 

"Yes," I whisper, finding it hard to meet her eyes. 

"Then trust me when I tell you I don't mind," she says gently, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

"I'm sorry." 

She kneels down in front of me, ringed hand pressed to my cheek. "For asking for help?" She sounds baffled, like  _How could you feel shame for this?_ and I nod, tears threatening to spill. "Emma," she breathes, swiping at the wetness on my cheeks, "It's okay."  

"I don't want you to think I'm..." 

"Helpless? Inadequate?"

"Both."

"I don't, I promise. Do you want me to tell you what I  _do_ think?" 

I nod.

"I think..." Her fingers grasp gently at my chin, fingers extended against my jaw "...That you are beautiful. I think you give yourself too little credit. I think life dealt you a shitty hand but you're all the stronger for it. I think you're capable and kind to a fault. I think you, Emma Nolan Swan, are a phoenix."  

_I think I'm falling in love with you._

I kiss her as tenderly as I can; a thank you, a  _stop being so perfect_ , a  _Please tell me it's okay to love you, because I'm scared shitless._ Regina smiles against my mouth, and pulls away slowly, the sound of our kiss echoing in my ears. 

"I'm, uh..." she clears her throat, a light blush on her tan cheeks, "Gonna go," she gestures backward with her thumb, "Start the shower. Are you okay to...?" She gestures to my clothes. 

"Yeah," I say, her nervousness making me smile a little. 

"Okay. Just, let me know-"

"I will. Are you  _sure_ you're okay with this?" 

"Absolutely."

  
The tiny 'O' her mouth makes when I walk into the bathroom makes my stomach knot.  _Fuck. My. Life. This is **so** not how I pictured this going. _"...Are you alright?" My voice shakes, and I can't bring myself to care with her looking at me like...  _that._ I'm not okay. At all. Why did I even suggest this? 

She blinks. "I'm fine. Emma, you're..." she stops, squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and gives a minute shake of her head. "I hope I got the temp right," she says instead, gesturing to the running water. I walk over and stick my hand beneath the spray, overly conscious of my body, my bent back and strained grip. "Okay?" she asks. I nod, smile a little. "Good. So, how do we...?" 

"We just have to get my right foot over the lip of the shower," I tell her. "So," I pause, balance myself, and hand her my right cane, placing my hand on the shower wall. She takes it and leans it against the sink. The process is repeated for the left. "Now, can I borrow your forearm?" She quirks an eyebrow teasingly, and I grin, because I can  _do_ this, as long as she's smiling about it. Regina rolls up her sleeve and offers me her wrist. Her skin is warm underneath my wet fingers. "Straighten your arm and lock your elbow. I have to put some weight on you." Right hand still on the shower wall, I grit my teeth and lift my right leg. "Fuck," I hiss, "It's too high." Stopping, I pause, and remind myself not to get angry. "Can you bend down, pick up my foot, and help it over?"

_I hate asking this._

_I know. But look, there's no pity in her eyes. Her warm, dark, beautiful, depth-less eyes... Fuck._ She nods. I take my hand from her arm and brace myself against the wall. Her grip is strong and sure and soft, and then it's gone as she straightens again and I lift my left leg to join the other one. The shower is medium-sized, and I move my hands along the wall, stepping back until I'm leaning against the back wall. I can still reach the soap, and the hand-held sprayer is also reachable, if I use the wall to walk along. 

"Are you set?" 

"I am. Thank you. I mean that." 

Lips brush my cheek, and her hair gets damp in the process. "Anything for my favorite author," she breaths, and suddenly I want to pull her into the shower, clothes and all, but- 

_"You have to get in the shower now, don't you Else?"  Soap drips from her hair, and even though I'm grinning, it quickly fades at the look of annoyance in her eyes. She sighs and pulls off her clothes. I don't touch her as she rinses off._

I swallow. "Regina," I murmur, "C'mere."

"Emma, I-"

"It's okay. C'mere, let me give you a kiss." My voice is husky, the same voice I used with Elsa, but this is _different._ This smile, this look of lust, this low moan as lips collide with mine... All different. All not Elsa. All _Regina_ , and _fuck,_ if she keeps sucking my neck like that... I grip her shoulders. She's half-way in the shower now, shirt and hair soaked, and she's  _beautiful._ "If you keep on like that, I'll never get to shower," I say weakly, fighting to stay upright. 

"Sorry," she husks, her voice a deep, velvety sound in my ear, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," I say, kissing her forehead gently as she moves away. "I'll call you when I'm done, okay?" 

She nods and closes the curtain. I wait until the door shuts before letting out a breath. The places where her lips had touched still burn.

_I don't get it, how can she want me?_

_Why am I **letting** myself want her? _

_Because, you love her. And here you thought you'd never love again._

_No. No, no, no, no. I can't._

_You **can**. She's already seen you naked, for God's sake! _

_That's... not the same as..._

_Cross that bridge when you get to it. You know she'll listen._

_  
_ When she comes back, it's with a towel and a smile. "Feel better?" 

"Mmm-hmm. Happy that I won't look like a grease monkey when your parents get here." I'm thankful Cora's out of the house, gone to get groceries and drive her husband home from the hospital. I doubt I could've asked for help had she been here.

Regina chuckles. "You'd be a sexy grease monkey, though, so, it wouldn't be all bad." 

I scoff. "I doubt your mother would approve." 

"No, but  _I_ would." She wiggles her eyebrows. 

"Stop!" I laugh, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. 

Getting out is easier than getting in, because I can use my dominate side, and, after leaning on her forearm and climbing out, she drapes a warm white towel over me. She'd gotten it out of the dryer, so that I wouldn't be cold. Swallowing the lump of emotion in my throat,  I watch her face as she dries my hair. A small, content smile plays on the edge of her mouth; her eyes caring and happy. 

_She really doesn't mind._

Wrapping the towel around me, she walks with me back to her old room, her hand warm on my back. Clothes are already on the edge of the bed, folded neatly and waiting. I struggle not to cry as I sit down next to them. "You didn't have to do this," I say thickly. 

Her fingers comb through my hair as she speaks. "Is it okay that I wanted to?" 

"Yes, but I-"

"Don't worry, Phoenix," she murmurs, kissing my brow, "Next time, if you hate it that much, I'll let you get the clothes."

"I don't hate it," I say quickly, terrified that she might think me ungrateful, "I'm just... Not  _used_ to this." 

"I know, that's why I'm doing it. Because you should be." I can only give her a watery smile in reply, unable to voice all that I'm feeling. I grab her hand and pepper kisses along the expanse of her upturned wrist, pulse fluttering beneath my mouth, because it's easier than words. And sometimes, that's okay. 

She leans down, and as I raise my head, our lips meet again. It's soft and sweet and lingering, and I can't help thinking that  _Yes, I do feel safe with you._ With a wink, Regina leaves me to get dressed, saying she's going to put coffee on. I nod happily and watch her disappear behind the door.  

I hear her hum Sting's  _'Fields of Gold'_ as she walks down the stairs. 

I smile, and sing under my breath:   
  
_"Will you stay with me, will you be my love, among the fields of barley?_  
_We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold..._  
_See the west wind move, like a lover so, upon the fields of barley,_  
_feel her body rise, when you kiss her mouth, among the fields of gold_."  
  


* * *

  
"Can I help with anything?" Cora and Regina are in the kitchen, washing dishes. Henry is comfortable on the couch, watching the news with eyes half-lidded from fatigue and meds, and I feel like I have to do _something_ besides sit and watch and feel useless. "I can clear the rest of the table, or..." 

Cora turns and looks at me, eyes slightly narrowed, with a look that says  _You? Help? That's laughable._ But she smiles, too strained and showing too many teeth, like the bigger she smiles the easier her jabs will be to ignore. "No, no dear. We're fine, thank you." 

Regina's shoulders tense at her tone. "She can do dishes, Mother. Why don't you let Emma and I finish up? You've hardly had a chance to speak to Daddy since he's been home. We'll bring out the desert when we're done." 

_We._

**_We._ **

I smile at Regina's back. She hasn't stopped scrubbing the dish in her hand. "Regina, I don't think-" Cora tries, her voice unnervingly sweet, "I'm sure your... _friend_ would rather sit. Wouldn't you, dear? We wouldn't want you breaking anything, if you were to hurt yourself-" 

I smile tightly. "I assure you, Mrs. Mills, I'm quite good with my hands." Her daughter lets out a snorting laugh, which she quickly covers by clearing her throat. "I promise to take the  _utmost_ care of your china," I say, putting my hand to my chest and bowing a little. Cora glares at me, and then at Regina, who's still shaking with silent laughter over the sink.

She bustles out of the kitchen without another word. 

Regina kisses my cheek when I come up to the counter and rid myself of my canes, rolling up my sleeves. 


	12. The Point of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW - This is where the sex starts.  
> **   
>  **i.e., the part where one angst-ridden, guilt-infused, emotionally wrecked woman tries to love another - fun times!  
> **   
>  **What? Sex with a disabled person? *Gasp* Guess what, it happens!  
> **   
>  **Who'da thunk!  
> **   
> 

"Come have dinner with me tonight." She says it in a nervous rush, on the way back to the hotel. The visor of the limo is up, and I'm grateful that Leroy can't see my startled expression or Regina's bitten lip. "You can finally meet Hannah," she continues."You love Shepards, right? Hannah's a black-and-tan, and the sweetest dog you've ever met." 

I smile. "You're cute when you ramble." She drags her teeth along her lower lip and I groan quietly, my long-neglected libido flaring at the sight. "Don't do that," I rasp out.

"Do what, _Em-ma_?" she purrs, voice dropping an octave in response to my suddenly spiked pulse and the look in my eyes. We'd been playing this game since leaving Cora's; lingering touches on my part and winks and blushes on Regina's. 

And it was... exhilarating, and terrifying and  _Holy shit, I can't believe this is happening._ _See? You aren't undesirable, better suited to living under a rock. **Bullshit.** You know it's not. _

" _That_ ," I stress. "It's distracting."

Regina cups my cheek, brown eyes warm with arousal and excitement. The rings on her fingers against my skin become a grounding pressure against the flutter in my body; still maintaining, somehow, the now-familiar gentleness of her palm. I gulp.  

"Is it,  _Miss Swan_?" My thighs tighten in response. Leaning forward, her lips stop just a hair's-breath from mine. Waiting. Giving me an out, a choice. 

My left hand snakes around her neck, burying in dark hair and the perfumed collar of her leather jacket. "Regina..." Her name spills from my mouth in a low moan, barely above a whisper, before I take her mouth with mine. She tastes like mint toothpaste and lipstick and coffee, and it makes my head spin. 

When we part with mirroring smiles, I reach up, tucking askew hair behind a pierced ear. "I'll have dinner with you," I tell her, before leaning in again to kiss the tip of her nose. 

 

* * *

  
"Yup," Ruby chuckles into her computer's camera, eyes crinkling with mirth. "It's official: You are  _so_ getting lucky tonight." 

I blink at her and she laughs again. "I-How? I mean why would-"

"Emma, listen to me. That woman  _wants_ you; you can't tell me otherwise, after what went down at Cora's."

"I know she does, but what about-?" 

Red rolls her eyes. "She doesn't give a flying fuck about your CP - she's proven that time and again." She softens then, reading my face and all the uncertainty on it. "It is okay to have feelings, y'know," she gently reminds me, and we share a tiny smile. "Answer me this: Do you love her?" 

I nod. "I'm starting to. Which is why I'm so fucking terrified," I explain. "I can't do this and get hurt again. I  _can't_ , Rubes."

"Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she's just as scared as you are? This is the chance we take, Em. Regina? She wants to take it with you.  _Let her._ " I don't know what to say or how to say it - I don't know how to make sense of my own heart, so I nod, because words won't come. My friend grins, the playfulness coming back full force. "So? What are you gonna wear?" 

I shrug. "I dunno. Hadn't really thought about it." 

Red chuckles. "I'd go for a button up and that jacket she gave you. Oh, and your 'Fuck Me Jeans,' of course."

I laugh. "I have fuck me jeans?" 

" _Every_ woman has a pair of fuck me jeans, Swan. Or heels. Sometimes a dress. And since I know you wouldn't be caught dead in either, I assume you have jeans instead."

I shake my head at her. "Alright. I'll see what I can do." 

I end up in the shower first, scrubbing until my skin's red and hoping the warm water will loosen the tension in my shoulders. It doesn't. For a moment I wonder if Regina's as nervous as I am, but then remember her stuttering in the limo and feel insurmountably better. 

I change my shirt four times before settling on a white button-up and a pair of decidedly classy black slacks.  _Well,_ I think as I rub cologne on my collarbone and check my teeth for the fifth time in the mirror,  _Here goes nothing._

_Here goes **everything.**_

* * *

  
_I can't do this, Red._

**_Yes, you can._ **

_What if I fuck up?_

**_You won't. Trust me. Bell and I are rootin' for ya. She thinks the whole thing is incredibly romantic._**  I sigh and stuff my phone back in my coat pocket.

Leroy flashes me a smile from the review. "Don't forget to breath, Miss Swan; it's relatively important, you know. She's on the top floor, apartment A-10." I nod in response, staring for another moment at the huge skyscraper in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I climb slowly out of the car. "Oh, and Emma? Good luck." 

  
Three knocks. The sound of locks giving follow.  _Fuck, I'm gonna puke._ And then she's there, beaming at me, and I can't move my legs or breathe or speak.  _Oh. My. God!_ She's wearing a dress, a  _dress_ ; for some reason my brain is stuck on that detail. It's black and form-fitting, with a teasingly-cut front. Her hair's in it's usual waves, her make-up a little more than usual. A silver necklace rests easily between her breasts: A single cleft music note. My eyes are drawn to it, and I stare for a moment before _realizing_ what I'm staring at, blush, and drag my gaze back up to her face. Her smile turns shy. "I thought you might want to see me in something other than leather for once." 

I push my glasses up on my nose and softly clear my throat. "I'm sorry," I mutter nervously, "You look... You look absolutely beautiful."  

She steps slightly out of the doorway and grabs the hem of the jacket she bought me. "You're the one who's beautiful," she whispers, and she  _means_ it and I  _know_ she does and my heart beats hard against my ribs. She pulls slightly, and I follow, smiling. "Can I take this?" she asks when we're inside, and I nod. She helps me out of it the same way she helped me into it when we went shopping, but it's slower this time, like she can pick up on my nerves and doesn't want to do _anything_ too fast. 

The penthouse is  _huge_ , essentially just one massive room aside from a hallway to the left which I assume leads to the bathroom and bedroom. The floor is solid cherry oak, and the place itself is made up of sleek, sharp corners and white and gray furniture. "You have a fireplace?" I eye it with a smile blooming on my lips, right below the massive big screen TV in the living room. 

"Two, actually. I have one in the bedroom too."

"I've always wanted one." 

"Suitable for a phoenix." I grin at her, and she kisses my cheek. Putting my jacket on a hook, she says: "Are you hungry? I made lasagna." At the thought of food, my stomach gives a violent twist, but I haven't eaten since lunch, so I nod. "The balcony's there," she points to a set of french doors. "Have a seat; I'll get Hannah." 

As she goes down the hallway I make my way to the open doors and my pulse picks up again at the sight in front of me. There are candles  _everywhere_ ; a white table cloth covers the table, two full glasses of wine on either side, one white, one red. The lasagna and salad sit in the middle, steaming and delicious-looking. Sitting down carefully on the left, in front of the white wine, I take my canes from my writs and slide them underneath my chair. 

The view from up here is wonderful, capturing a post-card worthy look at the city. Lights gleam against the night sky, thousands of electronic stars. Billie Holiday's  _'Embraceable You'_ plays in the background, something I hadn't noticed thanks to my nerves.

 _Come to me,_  
_come to me do,_  
_my sweet, embraceable you._

I take a large gulp of wine, putting it aside when I hear the ticking sound of paws on hardwood. "Easy, girl," Regina soothes, and I can't help the beaming smile that comes to my face when the dog rounds the corner, thick tail wagging wildly. When she sees me, she all but runs, sniffing my outstretched palm as soon as she's close enough.  

"Hi, sweet girl," I laugh, petting her as she gives me a lick. "Your Mama's told me about you, yes she has! You're just as pretty as she said." I can feel Regina's eyes on me, paused in the mouth of the hallway. Lifting my eyes from the dog's face, I flash a smile. "She likes you. How unsurprising," my date chuckles, walking over to the table and sitting. I give the Shepard a final rub on the side of her head and situate myself better in the chair, mirroring  Regina's position. "Hannah, lie down," she instructs, pointing to a rather large dog bed in the opposite corner of the balcony. The dog, obviously well-trained, does so without a whine. Regina cuts into the lasagna, offering me the first piece before serving herself. I tong some salad onto my plate and start eating.

The first five minutes  of dinner are quiet, save for the clinking of silverware.  _Calm down, it's just her. Breathe. Look at her, dammit!_   I do and am met with a teasing raised brow as she forks lasagna into her mouth. I laugh through the burning on my cheeks. 

"Emma." 

My thighs clench again. "Hmm?" 

"Are you alright?" 

"Y-Yeah." 

"Are you sure?" she asks, taking my right hand which is balled into a clammy fist.  

I shake my head, flatten my hand against the table and let her draw patterns on it with her thumb. "Are you?" 

She smiles and shakes her head, too. "I'm just... trying to think of a way to say this to you." 

"Say what?" I breathe, too light headed to be bothered with the question of what could possibly be so important as to warrant a candle-lit dinner. She takes a sip of wine, looks out over the city for a moment.  _Is she...?_ "Regina?" I whisper, setting down my fork.  

"I love everything about you," she murmurs. "Your mind, Emma, is one of the most beautiful things I've ever had the pleasure of encountering. I love your thoughtfulness, your intensity - the way you always strive to see the best in people. When I'm away from you, even if it's for a short amount of time, I find myself missing you, wondering what you're thinking," she laughs softly to herself, like admitting that particular fact is more secretive than what she's saying now. "I'm always wondering what you're  _thinking_. I love how you're so strong, have so much grit that it's baffling sometimes, yet have the capability to be just as soft. I want you to know that... that you don't have to be strong with me. And yes, I know that's incredibly cliche' of me, but it's only because every word, every phrase in the English language falls short when I try to think of a way to tell you how I feel about you. 

This hand," she says, lifting my gimp right hand and pressing her lips to the knuckles, "I love this hand. I love all the things about yourself that you hate." She smiles as I remove my glasses to wipe at my tears. "I love your eyes, Emma, did you know that?" she whispers. I shake my head, too awed to speak. "I love how every time you look at me, I can  _feel_ you... Just like you can feel me now. I know you've been hurt, but," she pauses, takes my other hand, "Emma I swear to you, if you give me a chance, you will never be alone again, because when I'm with you, alone is the last thing I feel. I love you, Emma Swan. I am completely, ridiculously in love with you. You don't have to say it back, if you're not ready, I just... wanted to let you know where I stood."  

My mouth opens and closes, and eventually the only thing I can settle on is a choked, needy, "Regina..." She waits, eyes steady but burning. 

"Yes, Emma?" 

"C'mere. Fucking _come here_!" I hate words suddenly, because at this very moment, they're only a barrier, and the only thing I want is skin. Her skin. She's up and out of her chair before I can blink, pulling me to my feet and kissing me so hard the world fades to nothing but lips and panting.

"Emma," she moans low against my throat. I whimper in reply. "Oh, God. Emma, Emma, Emma..." My hands clench at the fabric of her dress, and I  _want_ this, more than I can freely admit to myself. Her teeth graze my neck on accident, but I groan and she does it again, purposefully this time. "I wanna make you feel good. Teach me. Tell me how, Emma." She's begging, peppering my jaw with the kind of kisses that only come from withholding for so long, and I can do nothing, want to do nothing, but let her consume me. 

"Fuck," I moan. "Regina..." 

"Yes. Say it again. Say my name like that again. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you to say my name like that?" 

"Regina..." 

She whimpers. 

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, unable to drown out the thought of  _ **Run! She'll only hurt you in the end**_ **.** "Are you sure? Are you sure I'm the one you... want?" At this she slows herself, and I place my hands on her hips as she cups my face with both hands. 

"Yes, I'm sure." She kisses my forehead, and I notice her hands are shaking. "Phoenix, please don't think I could ever  _not_  want you. Look. Give me your hand." She takes one from my cheek and presses it to her heart, which is pounding hard against my palm. "See? This is what you do to me," she breaths, and pushes my hand down her body, til I'm cupping her. I try to pull away, but she holds me firm. "And  _this_ ," she moans as I press against her soaked center. "So yes, I want you." She presses her forehead to mine. "I want your hands on me, Emma Swan, do you hear me?" 

"Yes," I moan. "But... Canes..." 

"I'll get them. Hold onto the chair."  Embarrassment seeps into me at her words, the sharp sting of self-hatred, but I ignore it.  _Not tonight. Not tonight._ Her fingers are hooked in my belt-loops seconds later, pulling me toward the bedroom and kissing me all the while. 

I almost laugh at her eagerness when I sit on the edge of the bed and she tosses my canes haphazardly across the room. 

"Hey," I protest weakly, "I need those." 

"Not tonight you don't," she husks, straddling me. Her eyes are dark and gleaming from the candles on her bedside table. I shiver and smile all at once, the fingers of my left hand toying with her zipper. I kiss experimentally at the junction of her neck and shoulder, my right hand grazing the top of her ass.  

"Emma..." she sighs. "My Emma..." Her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt. "Let me see?" Her voice is rough; a kind of voice I haven't heard before but instantly love. 

"Mmm," I affirm, refusing to release the warm skin in my mouth. She eases the shirt open and over my shoulders. My hands fall away from her, trying to keep myself upright as she cups my right breast and frees it from the bra, running her thumb over the nipple."Jesus Christ,  _Regina_!" 

She kisses me, swallowing my whimpers and filling my mouth with her own. "Does that feel good, baby, hmm?" I nip at her bottom lip in answer before her words register and I break our kiss to look up at her. 

"What did you call me?"

Arousal coats my voice, and I sound odd to myself, but she grins wickedly and says: "Baby. I called you baby." She pulls at my nipple and watches my face contort in pleasure. "Do you like being called that,  _Em-ma_?" 

"Yeah." My voice is barely above a whisper, and breathing is becoming a task in and of itself. 

"Yeah?" she husks, and I moan at the neediness in her voice. "What about this?" And she ducks her head and takes me into her mouth.  

"R-Gina, fuck..." I'm on my back, groaning into the darkness of her bedroom as she sucks greedily.  

"You're so beautiful," she murmurs, breaking contact only to utter that sentence, which, even to my lust-addled brain, sounds full of wonderment. I don't even register she's cupping me until I feel the warmth of her hand through my underwear. 

Reflectively, my thighs squeeze together, trapping her hand. 

"Emma?" she asks, and it's that same  _'Did I do something wrong?'_ tone that Elsa had. She doesn't understand, but she will soon enough. I'll be woman enough to actually talk about it this time, but not tonight. 

I shake my head, and there are tears in my eyes. "Come here," I say thickly, "Let me touch you." She nods, and suddenly the atmosphere is softer, less charged, more caring, and guilt and pain build in my chest. I miss the absence of her weight on me instantly, but force myself upright, intent on watching her strip bare before me. 

Her body is glorious, a temple in its own right, scars or no. "You're trembling," she murmurs, advancing again. "Phoenix... Say something." 

"Regina... You are... You're breath-taking." She smiles at my wide eyes and straddles me again, ridding me of my shirt and bra. Taking her face in my hands, I press my lips to hers with all the passion, and yes, love, that I feel. 

She smiles, and I know this is enough. 

Gently, I roll us over, my left hand gliding from her sternum to her center. "If I hurt you-" 

"You won't. I trust you." 

"You feel safe with me?" 

"Yes. Do you feel safe with me, Emma? Really and truly safe?"  

I kiss her deeply. "Yes. Yes, I do. I'll teach you how to touch me, I promise. Will you wait for me a little longer?" 

"I'd wait to the end of time for you." 

The confession makes my breath catch in my lungs."You don't have to. I'm right here. Can't you feel me?" She bites her lip as I ease my fingers inside her. "Regina..." 

"Em-Emma..."  

I feel her in my bones, deep as the roots of our individual scars, and it is the most beautifully terrifying thing I have ever felt. We're both crying by the end of it, and I'm not sure which tears are hers and which are mine.  _Maybe that's the point of love_ , I think, letting her wipe at my cheeks and hold me like I haven't let myself be held in a year,  _To be so intertwined with one person, you can no longer separate yourself._ _I don't want to separate myself from her anymore._

"Regina?" my voice is hoarse with emotion, with the knowledge that I'm about to leap headfirst into a territory I swore to myself I'd never enter again. 

She rubs my back in a sleepy rhythm. "Yes, baby?" 

"I love you too." 


	13. I'm Not Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: il mio amore - 'My love' in Italian

"Emma... Emma, baby, wake up." Regina's voice is soft and rough with sleep, and it's beautiful in the purest of ways. I feel the light pressure of full lips on my cheek and smile. 

"Mmmph." Regina chuckles softly in response. "Gina." 

"Hmm?" she hums, pressing her lips to my jaw. I roll onto my back, opening my eyes to the sun filling the room and her radiant smile as she looks down at me. "There you are," she murmurs, cupping my cheek. I reach up and tuck a piece of bed-tussled hair behind her ear. Her lips brush mine as she leans down, and I grin against her mouth.  _This feels like paradise._ I kiss her back in earnest, trying to pour everything I feel - which is damn near impossible - into one action. She responds in kind, and the kiss is passionate but slow, conveying depth in a way that makes my heart race. _It feels like she pouring **light** into_ me, I think with the fuzzy clarity of coming back into consciousness. When the kiss ends, I simply stare at her, taking in every detail of her face. "I love you," she whispers, and I feel like crying again, more from awe and gratitude that a woman like Regina Mills would choose to love me, than from grief at the inadequacy of being unable to process my own emotions.

In answer, I open my arms, sighing happily when she lays her head on my chest. 

"Did you mean what you said last night?" she whispers, lips ghosting over my throat. She feels me tense and smiles, presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin. 

"Yes," I moan quietly, biting my lip. "You're... you're doing this on purpose."

"I am," she purrs teasingly, sounding pleased with herself. "How do you think the guys'll react to a little love bite, hmm?" She doesn't wait for me to answer, but sinks her teeth into my neck. 

"Fu--mmmm!" 

She pulls back moments later, inspecting her handiwork. "Uh-oh. My phoenix likes to be marked, I see." I can only whimper in reply, nod furiously. "What else do you like, _Em-ma?_ Can you tell me?"  

"Not with you touch-touching me," I rasp out, trying hard to ignore the insistent throbbing between my legs. 

"Try," she murmurs, now laying on her side, looking at me as she twists one nipple almost idly between her fingers. "I'll stop if I have to, but I  _really_ like touching you." I can tell she means it, and that in and of itself makes my thighs slick. 

I take a breath. "Because I have CP, every muscle in my body is constantly tight, unless I make a conscious effort to relax." Regina nods, sees the shadow that passes over my eyes at the mention of this, and kisses me again, long and sweet. I kiss her back tenderly, warmed by her patience and willingness to learn.  I lick at my bottom lip. "So, um..." She laughs at my half-assed attempt to redirect my thoughts. 

"Sorry," she husks, her hand moving from my breast to my lips, which I part as I suck her finger into my mouth. She watches with hooded eyes and hums appreciatively, slowly taking her index from between my lips to run it gently over my top lip. "I got distracted." I groan and kiss her fingertip. She smiles and goes back to my breast, now teasing it with her damp finger. "You were saying?" 

"Jesus," I breathe. 

"Regina, baby," she laughs, leaning in to nip at my ear. "But you can call me whatever you want..." 

I moan again, higher now and pathetically needy. "Baby..." 

"Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good," her voice is shaking, and I can tell she's barely stopping herself. She's looking at me now with so much  _want_ that I can hardly wrap my tongue around the words I need to say. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath.  _I promised myself I'd be woman enough to tell her. Open your mouth, Swan! Don't be a coward._ "All muscles are tight - including..." 

"This?" She murmurs, gently cupping me. 

 _Holy..._ "Y-Yes. Which means fingers hurt. Sometimes." 

She nips at a spot behind my ear. "Sometimes?" 

"It always hurts, at first. Before, when I was with... I would just ignore it, and then the looser I got the easier..." I swallow, "The easier it was. It hurt still, but in a good way? And she thought that it was the only way, because my clit was overly-sensitive." 

Regina gently brushes her thumb over it, watching me tense. "Did that hurt?" 

I shake my head. "It just feels like... My entire body's on fire." She moves her hand to the hood, gently rubs. I bite my lip, and she smiles. 

"Mmm. Good?" I nod. "I never want to hurt you, baby," she says, watching my face as her circles increase in tempo. My right hand balls into a fist and she covers it with her own. I feel tears at the edge of my eyes. "Never." And it's too much now, and the tears leak out, because  _fuck_ she means it.  It's a really weird thing, to feel pleasure and sadness all at once. There's a burning in my throat from swallowing tears; a burning in my thighs as I focus on keeping my legs apart.

_**This feels wrong.** _

_Why, because Regina actually wants to make you cum? Because she doesn't think it's a **chore**?  _

_Yes._

I think of the disappointment in Elsa's eyes when her touch didn't produce the effect shewanted, the sigh as she took her naked body away from me.  _"Just... go to sleep. Forget it. No, not tonight. I have a headache."_ I think of her on her laptop, typing away on the couch, of how I'd asked  _"What are you doing?"_  in a voice that didn't sound like me...And her response, bland and flat and hard:  _"Looking for your replacement."_

 I grit my teeth.  _Well, you found one, didn't you?  Your precious fucking Anna... I could've made you happy, Else, I could've-_

"Emma?"  _Regina. Oh God, Regina..._ "Emma, baby. Come back to me. I'm right here. I'm right here..." 

 _"_ _You **like** your stripes, don't you, baby?"  Nails in my back, blood blooming under her fingertips as she arches, moans in my ear.  **Harder! Give it to me, Else, all of it. Mine. MINE!  You deserve this. Can't you see that I love you?!  That I'm angry?  Yes. Beg. Good girl... Good girl.... Gonna fuck you so hard... Make you mine again. I love you, I love you, I lo-**_

_Stop._

"Shh... It's okay.... We're okay." 

 _Fuck, when did I start sobbing?_ "Regina..." She's holding me now, all thoughts of sex gone as I heave and whimper into her naked shoulder. "R'Gina... Regina. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby. I'm--" 

"Shh... I know. I know, baby. It's okay. We'll go slow, I promise." 

"I love you. I love you so much." 

She kisses my hair, pulls me tighter against her body. "I know." 

"D-Do you still love me?"

She pulls back to look me in the eye. She's crying, too. Her tears are slipping down her cheeks like silent apologies to me. "Emma Nolan Swan, don't ever ask me that again. Of course I still love you." She smiles a little, wipes at my cheek with her thumb as I reach up to do the same for her. "Tu sei il la luce dei miei occhi, Phoenix. You are the light of my eyes," she whispers, "Never doubt how much you mean to me. And if, by chance, you do, remember I'm not her. Remember I'm  _me_ , il mio amore.  Rember that this is ours. Remember that _this_ ," she takes my left hand, places it over her naked breast, over her heart, "Is yours." 

I can't speak -- it isn't wise to, with all the shit in my head -- so I kiss her instead. I kiss her until her lips are swollen, until her mouth is wet from my tongue running over her lip scar. She holds me steady, the cold rings on her fingers grounding me as they are apt to do. 

She understands. 

 

* * *

  
Hours later, we're headed to Gold's. Regina's dead-set on finishing the demo today, on starting the actual album. She has a photo shoot Gold scheduled for her, and me? I just can't stop smiling. "Oh  _honey_!" Mom squeals  into the phone, making me pull it away from my ear as Regina grins beside me. She squeezes my thigh, and Leroy only laughs as he watches from the review, as tickled as Mom is about Regina and I. "I'm so happy for you! Wait, let me get your father--DAVID! They're DATING! I _**TOLD**_ YOU!" 

"Yes, Snow, and now the whole of Storybrooke knows it, too." I hear him laugh in the background and can't help but laugh, too. I am happy, right this second, I realize, feeling the lightness in my chest, genuinely  _happy_. I'd forgotten what that felt like. 

"We were wondering why we hadn't heard from you," she continues. "I knew it," she sounds smug. "I knew you'd find happiness, Emma." 

"Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me, Mom," I tease. 

"My daughter and the famous Regina Mills,  _dating_!" She laughs. "It's like a dream!" 

"It is for me too, Ma. It is for me too." Full lips press to my cheek in response. Leroy knocks on the roof of the limo; our sign to rap it up. The studio is fast approaching. "Gotta go. I'll call again when I can." 

I lean forward and kiss Regina as the limo stops. "Mmm.... what was that for?" she murmurs in my ear.  

"No reason... I just like the way you taste." 

" _Miss Swan_ ," she growls. 

"Fuck," I whimper.

"Mmm-hmm. Don't start things you can't finish." 

"Who says I can't?" 

"We'll blind poor Leo if you do." 

"Fine."

"Later," she whispers, winking as she gets out of the car. 

 

* * *

  
_"Angel of mine, show me your face,_  
_don't be afraid to fly._  
_Let your tears kiss my eyes like rain, love,_  
_and hold tight._

 _Sleep softly in my mouth,_  
_call it your home_  
_and cry out..._  
_"Angel of mine! Love me to my bones!"_

_Wish that the night never come, my precious Annabelle Lee,  
drown your demons in the light of the sea."  _

I smile as the song ends.  _We loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabelle Lee._


	14. Shatter Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The title of this chapter comes from this song ---> [ Shatter Me Featuring Lzzy Hale - Lindsey Stirling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49tpIMDy9BE)
> 
> Consent is the name of the game, peeps.

"Great, Regina. Beautiful. Now, smile for me?"

Amidst the wires and cameras of Gold's son's studio, I watch from afar with my jaw on the floor as the photographer -- Neal Cassidy -- directs her. She's become a fucking temptress in front of the lens, her eyes burning with such raw, teasing passion that it makes my mouth feel like the damn Sahara. They'd brought in a bit of chain-linked fence for her to use as a prop, which she was currently standing behind, ringed fingers threaded through and lips parted. Alice Cooper's ' _Poison'_   blares through the speakers of the set as they shoot, and  _fuck_ I want her.

_NOW._

I bite my lip as she presses a ripped-jean covered thigh to the fence.  _Those hands. Those thighs. Those fingers... That smirking, red mouth... I know them all. I **l**_ **ove** _them all._

"Let's get a few shots of you and the band," Neal says. Regina nods, and he waves them over. If the album takes off like Gold predicts it will, all three of them are game for touring. The idea makes a knot of anxiety form in my chest.  _I'm half-way done with the bio. When it's finished, and she goes on tour..._

 _ **You'll just slow her down.**_  

Killian grins at me as he makes his way to the setup with Lily and Robin, clapping me heavily on the shoulder. It stings, but I flash him a smile anyway. 

  
"So...  You wanna stay with me tonight?" she asks as she takes a break from set. There's a gleam in Regina's eyes, a lot like hope, and I nod. The thought of my hotel room is depressing now, knowing -- _remembering_ \-- what it feels like to sleep beside someone who wants you there. "Are you sure? Because I don't want to pressure you, or anything. I know that this is new, and-" 

My lips turn upward a little and I watch affection work its way onto her face in response. "I'm sure, Gina. If you don't mind, then..." 

" _Mind_? Phoenix, I never _mind_ having you in my bed," she laughs low in her throat, drops her voice an octave, "If I did, I'd have to get my head checked." Sweat's beaded on her forehead, and she has a cherry-red Gibson strapped to her back, looking for all the world like a self-satisfied teenager.  _This look, this proud, confident smugness... It is the picture of youth._

I feel a surge of affection for her, quick and insistent. "God, you're beautiful," I breathe, staring up at her from the metal folding chair I'm sitting in. Something in my gaze makes her lips part, and the intensity of the moment, which had been building since I watched her in front of the camera, takes us both by surprise. 

She grasps my chin with her fingers, laughs softly. "Well, I must be something, considering you've been undressing me with your eyes since the shoot started." My cheeks burn. She grins. "It's very distracting, you know."

"Sorry," I mutter. 

"Oh, no baby, don't apologize," she husks, eyes falling to my mouth and back again, "Just use your hands next time." She bends at the waist, kisses my cheek. I groan quietly. 

"Reggie!" Lily calls, sounding exasperated, "Get your ass over here! You can play tonsil hockey with Emma later!"

Regina rolls her eyes. "We weren't! But at least  _I'm_ getting to, L! Cock-blocker," she mutters, and I can't help but giggle.  


* * *

  
"Come  _here_ , tease!" she mutters as soon as the door to her apartment closes, wrapping her arms around my middle and pressing herself into my back. I laugh gently, lean my head back as she presses her lips to my neck. 

" _I'm_ the tease? You were the one looking at the camera like you wanted to devour it! I can't imagine what you do to your fans. Poor bastards'll probably have heart attacks!" 

She brushes my hair behind my ear and runs her tongue along the edge. I whimper, shift on my feet. She tightens her hold. "Says the woman who was looking at me like she wanted to fuck me in front of my photographer." I turn my face and kiss her fully, moaning when her tongue prods my mouth. One hand slides upwards, squeezing teasingly at my breast. I groan into her mouth, pressing myself harder into her. Breaking the kiss when my lungs start to burn, I nip at her chin. 

"I'm gonna fall if you keep that up," I pant, looking at her flushed face with hooded eyes. 

"I won't let you," she whispers. "Come with me." She lets go of me slowly, making sure I have my balance before walking around to face me, hooking her fingers in my belt loops and walking backwards to the bedroom. 

_This is familiar._

_No, this is **Regina**. _

"What about Hannah?" I ask a bit breathlessly between kisses. 

"Kathryn's watching her tonight," she mutters, her hands already at my belt, "Now shut up and kiss me." 

I smile against her mouth. "So needy."

Her teeth graze my bottom lip. "Your fault for looking at me like that." One hand on my hip, she fumbles with the door handle, moaning as I kiss her neck. "Emma... Fuck, goddamn _door_!" she growls, shoving it open. 

I take my mouth away from her, unable to keep myself from laughing. "Baby, we've got all night," I remind her through a grin. She laughs, hooks both fingers back into my belt loops. 

"We do," she agrees, "But I wanna get you out of these clothes..." She kisses me slowly, pulls away, "...And into my bed..." I whimper as she backs into the room, turning me til my calves hit the mattress. I sit on the edge, and before I can blink, my canes are propped against the wall next to the nightstand and her hands are under my shirt. Taking off my glasses, I make sure to at least get them on the table before she lifts it over my head. "Off," she pants, ridding me of my bra before pushing me back onto the bed to kneel at my feet. The sound of Velcro unstrapping from my SMO's pulls me out of my lust-induced trance. 

I raise up on my elbows. "You... Don't have to do that," I say quietly. 

Her eyes raise to my face. She smirks. "This is a brand-new duvet, darling, of course I have to. You think I'd subject my bed to these muddy shoes of yours?"  _This is why I love her._ I fall back onto the bed with a chuckle, and she goes back to her task, pressing a kiss into the folds of my jeans as she works. Rising from her knees when she's finished, she presses herself to me, a hand on each side of my shoulders. Lifting my head, I meet her half-way for a searing kiss, wanting to get back to the euphoria I was feeling moments earlier. 

"Phoenix... Mmm, Fuck, baby," she moans between kisses as I tweak her nipples through her shirt. "Wait... Wait..." she pants, pulling back to hold my gaze. "Are you okay? Do you want to keep going?" 

 ** _Like I'd ever forgive myself if I stopped!_** I nod. "Please." I kiss her again, harder and more insistent this time. "Please, please please..." I'm gasping against her now, desperate for her hands and mouth and skin. Begging. 

_"Don't beg, Em. You don't need to beg."_

**_Fuck you, Else! FUCK YOU!_  **

"Okay," Regina moans, eyes glazed over with passion. "Okay baby. Can you lift your hips a little for me?" She helps me out of my jeans, taking my underwear with them. "You're perfect," she breaths, lowering herself over me again. I shake my head. "Oh  _yes_ you are," she says, voice deep and silky, like steam gliding gently across my skin. "You.. are... beautiful," she whispers, kissing my chest as she speaks, tracing the head of my phoenix tattoo with her tongue before taking my left breast in her mouth, sucking hard and then gently biting.  

"R-Regina..." She hums around the flesh in her mouth, circling my nipple with her tongue as one hand teases my other breast.  My left hand tangles itself in her hair, my right still a fist at my side. I can feel impressions starting to form in my palm. "Baby, look at me," I say softly, stroking her hair. She takes her mouth away and I struggle not to groan at the loss of contact. I raise my right hand and grip at the back of her shirt. "Off," I mutter, and she grins, lipstick slightly smudged from our kisses. 

"Is that what you want, hmm? You wanna touch me?" she asks, eyes heavy and lustful and teasing. The insides of my thighs are embarrassingly slick now, and I nod eagerly. 

"Yes," I breathe out, finding it harder and harder to speak. Words are hard when your body is in sensation overdrive. "I wanna touch you." 

"Emma," she moans at the neediness in my voice, the look in my eyes. "Fuck." 

"Can I?" I ask shakily. 

She sighs through her nose, kisses me again, lets her tongue dance with mine for awhile before answering. "Phoenix, you never have to ask if you want to put your hands on me." 

"I'm going to anyway," I tell her, before sucking gently on her bottom lip. 

"Charming as ever," she pants, stilled by my hands squeezing her ass.  "Ah... That feels..." 

"You like that?" Now my voice has gone back to a growl; the dominant, familiar side of myself rearing. 

"Yeah," she whimpers, "Yeah I do."

I smile, squeeze her again. "I bet..." I murmur, raising my head to kiss the juncture between her neck and shoulder, "If you undressed..." Another kiss, "I could make it feel even better..." 

She lets out a shaky breath in my ear, lets my mouth run across her skin for a few moments before pulling away to stand in front of me. I rise with her, my hands working at her belt as she unbuttons her shirt. She arches an eyebrow at me, smirking.

"You said to use my hands," I remind her, licking at her navel as the skin is revealed.  

"Mmm... Baby... Move back, let me unbutton these." Her hands are shaking as she works the zipper, slides her hands to her hips and pushes the denim down. I groan at the sight of shapely olive skin, pepper kisses all over the swell of her right hip, my left hand going back to squeeze appreciatively at her black, lace-covered, bubbly ass.  " _Em-ma_..." she groans. 

"You feel so good," I moan. Her fingers slide through my hair, tugging slightly. I look up, and her hand finds my chin as she bends down, actually stealing my breath with the force of her kiss. She kicks off her boots as she does it, begrudgingly stopping to remove her underwear and socks. I take the time to fully look at the beautiful woman in front of me, her already hard nipples and scarred wrists and thighs, the freckles dotting her chest, the strong arms and gentle hands. The dark, neatly trimmed hair between her thighs. My mouth waters at the sight of it, at the sight of her knowing, brilliant smile. 

"Regina..." I'm struck dumb as I meet her eyes, see the love and care in them. When I had first touched her, it had been dark and I had been too caught up in the moment to fully appreciate her, made giddy and hurried by wine, but now...  "I- I will never get over how gorgeous you are," I whisper, and awe coats my voice again, unable to comprehend why such a woman allows me to touch her. Why she permits me the privilege of loving her. Wrapping my arms around her, my hands splay against her back as I take her breast into my mouth. 

"Phoenix... My beautiful, beautiful Phoenix..." she sighs, and my chest tightens with emotion, because it sounds like  _I'm yours_. It sounds like  _You are my safe place._ Like  _I love you_. Her hands run softly over my back, gently scrapping with blunt nails. I shudder. "I know you like that," she murmurs, "I can feel you tense every time I do it."  

"Mmm hmm," I whimper pathetically, lost in the sensation.

She moans again. "I love that I can make you feel good," she says breathlessly, sucking air through her teeth as I tug at her nipple with mine. "I want... I wanna make you feel so good you can't stand it." Her fingers trace the curve in my spine, tenderly, like it's a part of me that needs to be recognized, loved. 

"Gina..." I whisper, pulling my lips away and looking up at her. A surge of heat works its way through me at her words, coiling in my stomach before settling as an unbearable throbbing between my legs. 

"Will you let me? Will you let me love you, Emma Swan?" I nod, dizzy with want and awe, and  _yes_ I'm going to let her do this. 

I swallow. My mouth is dry suddenly, my tongue heavy. "I want you," I tell her, and the look she gives me would have brought me to my knees if I hadn't been sitting. "I want you so bad it scares me."

She smiles gently. "Baby... You don't have to be afraid. I promise." I lean forward and kiss her chest, because it's the only skin I can reach. "Emma." I hold her gaze. She runs a thumb over my bottom lip. "I love you. I never,  _ever_ want to cause you the same kind of pain Elsa did." The warmth in her eyes makes me want to cry. But I don't. Not this time. Not for a woman who doesn't love me, who hasn't for a very long time. Not for ghost hands, but for the ones cupping my face, holding me like I _mean_ something. "Do you trust me?" 

"Yeah," I rasp. That answer earns me long, slow, sweet kisses until my skin burns, and I'm so out of my mind with lust that any attempts at coherence are moot point. 

She lets go of me slowly, steps back. "Lie down for me, baby," she whispers. I bite my lip and comply, scooting back a bit before lifting my legs in tandem and easing back onto the pillows with as much grace as I can muster. Her eyes move from my face to my feet and back again, and I try not to squirm. "You are so beautiful... God, Emma..." I can only grin at her and open my arms, because I can't get the words  _C'mere. Come here and take me_ to come out of my throat. 

She approaches slowly, watching me carefully for any sign of discomfort. With effort, I tear my gaze away from the sway of her breasts and hips as she moves. "It's okay." My voice is barely audible, but she hears the permission all the same and kneels at my side. The bed creaks; the only sound except our rapid breathing. "Can you spread your legs for me?" Her voice is trembling, but it sounds like sex, and I whimper in reply. I part my thighs as much as I'm able to. Straddling my hips, she nudges her left knee between my thighs.

Both of us moan at the same time.

"Oh... Oh, darling..." she sounds near tears, her back literally quaking under my hands. I cup her face and kiss her gently. _Translation: Yes, you do this to me and **yes** , I love you. _Overcome with fervor, she kisses me repeatedly, kneading my breasts in time with the ragged breaths leaving her lips, before it leaves to join her wandering hands. She places open-mouthed kisses on whatever piece of skin she can reach. "Emma...Emma... _Emma_..." There's desperation in her tone, a driving  _need_ that matches her flushed face and sloppy kisses, and it makes me moan, louder and longer than I had before. 

I'm annoyed that I can't buck my hips, annoyed that I can't chase the friction of her knee against me. "Gina," I gasp, and that slows her a little, makes her look at me. I reach for the top of her ass and urge her forward. She takes my cue and rocks into me, her mouth immediately attaching to my neck when I throw my head back, letting out a strangled noise between a moan and a plea for more. 

I can tell she's leaving a hickey, and my left hand fists her hair, pressing her mouth harder against me. "Fuck, yeah! just like that, baby, fuckin' just like that..." She rakes her teeth over the spot she'd just left and I growl, a low rumble in my chest. 

"Oh, God," she moans. "Baby..." Her knee is thrusting now, wet with me, and  _fuck_ I want to touch her, to roll us over and make her scream. 

 _Let her have you. Let her make **you** scream. You wanted this, now you have it. **Don't disappoint her like you disappointed Elsa.**_  

"R'gina..." The bed is creaking obscenely with every movement she makes against me, and her mouth feels like velvet, and holy shit she actually  _wants_ me. 

She moans, kisses my neck again. I place my hands on her shoulders and squeeze gently.  _Don't be a coward, don't be a coward, don't be a coward._ _Tell her. Say it. She'll listen... she always **listens**_ **.** She looks at me, and as soon as she takes in my wet cheeks, she stops.  _No no no no, this is bad. She thinks she did something wrong... Fuck._

"Emma? Did I d-" 

"No! It's just, um..." 

She searches my face. "This position isn't working for you, is it?"

 _Anndd here come the waterworks. Goddammit!_ "I'm -- I'm sorry." 

"Shhh," she kisses my forehead. "It's all right."

I shake my head under her mouth. "If, if you want to stop, then..." I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't even finish the sentence, because her stopping _isn't_ okay. Not this time.

" _Stop_? God, no! Baby," she whispers against my lips, "Look at me." I shake my head again, afraid of the disappointment I'll see. "Please? I need you to look at me. I need you to see the truth." I open my eyes and gaze her, tears still streaming freely down my face. "I don't want to stop," she murmurs, wiping at them, "I want to figure this out _with_ you." 

"Why?" I croak, my throat burning. 

"Because baby, you deserve to be loved, and loved thoroughly, by someone who wants to make  _you_ feel good. Now, why are you crying?" 

"Be-Because you can't do what you want to do. And I don't wanna disappoint you, and-"

She kisses me and I whimper. When it ends, she says, in her _Trust me, you're safe_ voice: "Baby, listen to me. Making love to you  _isn't_ about me. It isn't about what position would please me, it's about what I can do to please  _you_. I want to do what makes you feel good, whatever it takes. _That_ would make me happy. And as far as disappointing me goes... Phoenix, you never could." 

"I love you," I tell her softly, because all other words seem inadequate. "I don't know when it happened, or how, but dear God I love you."  

Her smile is blinding. "I love you too." Kiss-swollen lips meet again, and time really does seem to stop, because  _she didn't pull away_. She takes her knee from the apex of my thighs and cups me instead, rubbing at the top just as she had before. "Is this okay?" she asks, breaking the kiss. 

"Harder," I moan, now a whimpering, emotional mess. "Please."

She groans, complies, buries her face in my neck. "I love you, Emma Nolan Swan. Tu sei il la luce dei miei occhi." 

"You are the light of my eyes," I translate breathlessly, feeling tears on the edge of my vision for a completely different reason. 

"Baby, can I--?" 

"What?" 

"Can I taste you? Is that something you would be okay with?" 

"Fuck," I moan. "Yes." 

She kisses me again, moves to kneel at my feet. "You'll-You'll have to hold my legs open, since-" 

"You tense when you get excited," she says, smiling as I just nod dumbly. "I know." 

I spread my legs again, watching her face as she takes me in. There's only want. Not a trace of disgust. Getting down onto her belly, she gently grips the insides of my thighs and moves them outward. The stretch is a little painful, but worth it. 

Because her mouth is on me. Her fucking mouth... She licks from my center upward, pulling me in with her lips. "Oh. My. God. Regina..."

She raises her head. "Is that-?" 

"Regina Elizabeth Mills, I swear to God-!" 

She chuckles, bows her head again. 

Her tongue enters me, and she brings one hand up to tease my clit, making sure to never directly touch it. "Fuck! FUCK! Oh God..." And then speech leaves me completely. I can only moan wantonly into the air, until even that becomes a tangle of nothing sensible. 

"Don't stop, don't fucking stop! I'm gonna, I'm gonna-"

Her fingers replace her tongue at the last minute. The pain is acute, but still I welcome the burning. "Look at me, Emma." I put my chin to my chest and hold her gaze. "Come for me, Phoenix."

Those words throw me over the edge, and I feel like my entire being is shattered, pried open by love. "REGINA!" 

"There's my girl," she moans. "You look so good coming for me, baby. So fucking good." I can't speak and she knows it, so she keeps her fingers in me and lets the wave wash over me in silence. When I finally stop shaking, she gently takes her hand away and kneels between my legs, pressing herself to me as she had before, with a hand on either side of me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her through my tears. 

The taste of me on her lips makes me smile. 


	15. Am I Everyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Song at the beginning is Melissa Etheridge's **'Nowhere to Go'  
> **  
> 

_"Dance with me forever,_  
_this moment is divine,_  
_I'm so close to heaven,_  
_this hell is not mine._  
_This hell is not mine..."_

A smile blooms on my mouth as I wake. Regina's voice floats into the room, sweet with happiness.  _It's because of me... It's really, truly, because of me..._ My smile widens to a full-blown grin. If I could wake to her singing and the smell of coffee every morning, there'd be no need for anything more. My heart swells with affection, with  _joy_ , and I ease myself from her bed, her scent clinging to my skin and hair. 

My canes give me away as I walk down the hall, thumping in time with my bare feet on the hardwood, and she turns, grinning.  "Morning, beautiful. Sleep well?" I smile and nod, walking up behind her and wrapping my left arm around her, pressing myself into her back. 

"Mmm hmm," I affirm, sleep still tinging my voice. I kiss her bare shoulder, exposed because of her white tank-top, and she shudders. "Did you?" My breath tickles her neck and my lips ghost over the skin; the muscles in her stomach expand against the flat of my palm. 

"You wore me out last night," she laughs, "How could I not?" 

"Would you like a repeat?" I tease sexily, letting my hand glide downward, cupping her. Her sharp gasp makes me chuckle. 

"Emma..." she moans, rocking against my hand slowly. 

"Yeah, baby?" I breath in her ear. 

"Mmm... You're gonna make me burn breakfast," she whimpers. I rub gently at her clit. "Baby... Fuck." She's biting her lip, I can tell by her tone, the way she's lightly gripping my wrist. 

"Turn off the stove," I murmur, desire making my blood rush, "It can wait."  With a shaky hand, she switches it off, immediately grabbing the counter and thrusting her hips to meet the quickening pace of my hand. 

"You... are... such... a fucking tease," she pants. 

"Am I?" I ask, my hand working into her underwear. She's wet already, and both of us whimper at the feeling. "Am I really, Gina?" 

"Fuck, Emma... Yesss. Please, baby, please..."

"Regina," I groan, feeling myself tighten in excitement as my fingers find her opening and press upward. 

"Yes! Oh God yes, Phoenix. Right there, right fucking there." I whimper in response, pressing kisses to her neck. 

"I love you," I tell her breathlessly, "I fucking love you, Regina."        

"I --- I do too. God, Emma, I'm yours baby, just fucking take me,  _please_!" 

"Please?" My voice is rough, and coherent thought is gone, because her ass is pressing against the apex of my thighs, teasing me relentlessly. "Is that what you want baby? Hmm? You wanna come on my fingers?" 

" _Em-ma_ ," she growls, and it turns into a moan when I make another hard circle inside her. She's trembling, knuckles white as she grips the counter top. I murmur in her ear until she comes, tensing deliciously around my fingers.  

"I love you," I whisper over and over, watching as the wave of her orgasm subsides. 

She turns in my arms, wrapping me in a tight hug. "I love you too." 

 

"You... You what?" I can't help but gape at her from across the kitchen table. 

"You heard me, Phoenix. I want us to go public." I can only stare in awe, my mind running wild with the implications of such a big announcement. An announcement on national television. In front of millions of people.  _Oh, shit_. 

She smiles tenderly, reaching across the table to take my hands in hers. "My interview with _The Today Show_ is in two days, and I thought... Well, I thought it'd be perfect. A chance to tell the world I'm in love with my favorite author." Her thumbs rub at the skin of my hands. "I'd shout it from the rooftops for you, but I'm afraid of heights." 

I laugh despite myself, warmed by the light in her eyes. "Isn't that a conflict of interest?" 

"No, because  _Gold's_ paying you for the bio,  _I_ just chose you." 

"What about the album?" 

She frowns. "What about it?" 

"The bio's getting close to being finished, when the album comes out, and you go on tour..." 

"You'll come with me," she says immediately, picking up on my fear. I blink at her. She gives an airy, disbelieving laugh. "Why do you look so surprised? You thought I'd just throw you away after your part was done? Do you really think I'd do that to you, Emma?" 

I shake my head. "It won't be easy. The concerts, the paparazzi, the stress..." 

"It won't be," she agrees, "But I want you right here with me. I can't imagine my life without you in it anymore, Emma. I don't just want you, I  _need_ you, just like you do me. You guide me, Phoenix, ground me, make me strive to be a better woman, one that you'd be proud to stand beside."    

"Regina. I'm proud every day." 

* * *

  
Red grins as I stand in front of my computer's camera, modeling a purple button-up and my old leather jacket. She lets out a low whistle, and my cheeks burn from smiling. I'd gone back to the hotel to shower and pack; Regina had said there was no point in holding a room I barely stayed in anymore, and I'd agreed, somewhat bashfully, before kissing her. "You ready?" Ruby asks.

"To embarrass myself on national TV by inadvertently tripping over my own feet? Not remotely." 

"You'll be fine, Em. Regina won't let you fall." I think of her fingers in my belt loops, of  _"Come with me,"_ and feel my face heat. 

"No," I murmur. "She won't."  

* * *

  
"Phoenix," Regina murmurs in my ear as a stage-hand fixes a mic to my shirt, "Breathe. I'm right here." 

I dig my fingernails into my cane handles and grit my teeth. "I'm gonna fuck it up."

Her hand finds my back, rubs in soothing circles. "No, you won't." 

"This morning," began the interviewer as the cheers of the audience died down, "We welcome to the show Regina Mills, front-woman of the acclaimed band _Scarred Queen_ , and Emma Swan, author of 'The Painter,' as well as Mills' biography." Regina squares her shoulders and moves forward, her hand dropping from my back. She walks slowly, in time with me, and I feel my heart squeeze. 

_Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip... Fuck this floor is slippery! What did they do, cover it in lard?  Easy, just make it to the chair, shake the guy's hand, and... Sit. Thank you, God, for sparring Regina having to scrape my ass off the floor._

"Regina, it's good to see you again," the interviewer says affably, giving her a hug. 

"You too, Jefferson," she answers just as cordially before taking her seat in the huge armchair beside mine.  

"You've been busy," he grins. 

"I have," she answers. "It's been good, getting back into the studio again."

"Your fans are absolutely beside themselves," Jefferson laughs. He holds up the album cover. It's black, and in the middle, Regina's gazing sultrily at the camera from behind the chain-linked fence, her fingers curling into a 'come here' motion. "You think this might have something to do with it?" She just chuckles, shakes her head. "You named this album _**'Redefine,'**_ " he lowers the case and looks at her. "Why?" 

Her black and white pantsuit crinkles as she crosses her left leg over her right knee. "Because that's what I've been doing - Redefining what it means to be Regina Mills. My hope with this album - with these songs - is to reach people deeply enough so that they too redefine themselves, and how they view the world. It's time to stop playing into society's idea of what's normal, valid -- sexy." Her hand finds mine, squeezes at the word "sexy," and I shift in my seat. 

Jefferson nods. "And what prompted this change in you?" 

Regina smiles. "The woman sitting next to me." 

"How so?" He asks, eyes flickering from my face to hers and back again. 

"Emma's work inspired me -- made me view things in a way that I hadn't before. That's a sign of a true artist, I think -- being able to captivate. I was enamored with her writing from the start; when she agreed to write my book, it deepened my respect and thankfulness for her ten fold." 

"You sound a little star-struck yourself," Jefferson grinned. 

"I am. She is, as she knows well by now, my favorite author." The warmth in her voice makes my stomach flip pleasantly, and I squeeze the hand still resting in mine. Jefferson eyes our linked fingers and smirks. 

"And how do you like working with Regina, Emma?" He asks, ice blue gaze settling on my face. 

"It's been a once in a life time experience, honestly. Regina's an incredible musician and I'm honored she chose me to write her story." 

"I don't recall biographies being part of your repertoire." 

"They're not, but..."

"I wanted her anyway," Regina cuts in, casting a glance and smirk at me. "I wanted depth only she could bring." 

"Really? And why is that?" 

"Because I fell in love with her words - with her heart - long before I met her." The audience claps and cheers at that, and Jefferson merely blinks.

"Love?" he asks finally, "Regina, do you...? Are you...?" 

She grins at him. "Yes. I love her, very much." 

His wide eyes find my face. "And do you...?" 

I laugh and nod. "Yeah. Yeah I do." The cheers are deafening this time, a cacophony of shouts and whistles, and I can't do anything but grin. I can't do anything but look at her and think she's too good to be true.

Near the end of the interview, she's asked if she can play a song from the new album. She agrees, is handed a guitar and heads to the stage. I watch her transform right in front of my eyes. I still can't accurately describe the change in the book, I realize, holding her gaze as she starts to sing.  

 _"How come you look so lonely?_  
_Darlin' I can see, that you never felt loved,_  
_never took the meaning, of gentle romance. or_  
_a steady hand._  
_Baby just breathe, and please look at me._  
  
_You are not broken, you are not damned,_  
_and yes still I stand, at your side baby,_  
_because I know, the dark side of dreams_  
_ain't easy to let go..."_

* * *

  
"They made us into a GIF," I laugh, having gotten a text from Belle that had simply said:  _Check Twitter! :-D_

"Already?" Regina laughs from beside me, putting her chin on my shoulder to see. It was of the smirk she'd given me, our linked hands. **#SwanQueen** flashes at the bottom in rainbow lettering. 

I frown. "Swan Queen? We have a shipping name now?" 

Another rich laugh meets my ears as Leroy takes another turn. "Apparently." She slides closer, wraps her arm around my shoulder. "There are worse names, bambina. Just be thankful it's one we can tolerate." I chuckle and squeeze her thigh, pressing my lips to the smiling curve of her cheek. 

* * *

  
The call wakes me, and I startle a bit, the tightening of my body making Regina frown in her sleep. Carefully, I detangle myself from her, rolling over onto my stomach to silence the annoying buzzing. I don't recognize the number and frown. It's midnight and no one in their right mind would be calling at this hour... Unless it's another emergency? Was it Dad? What if he'd been shot? What if he was in the hospital? Fuck. 

With trepidation gnawing at my insides, I answer. "Hello?" I try to keep my voice low; it's still hoarse with sleep. 

"Emma?" 

A surge of heat instantly courses through me, and my palms prick with sweat. "El...Elsa?" 

I can hear a shaky breath on the other end of line. "Hi. Did I wake you?" 

"Yes. Are you alright?" God damn me, I still can't stop affection and concern from seeping into my voice. 

"I've been better." I stay silent, unsure of what to say. "I... I miss you, Em. Very much. Can we -- could we meet tomorrow, for coffee or breakfast or... something?" I squeeze my eyes shut.  _No, no, no! Don't do this to yourself. Regina... Regina..._ "I just want to talk," she says quickly when I don't answer right away. "You don't have to, but..." she sighs, "Please Em. Give me a chance to apologize." 

"Tomorrow?" I breathe. "Else, where are you?" 

"In New York," she answers sheepishly. "I saw you on the Today Show and I... I booked the earliest flight I could find."  

"You... What?" 

She laughs softly at my incredulousness. I ball my right hand into a fist, squeezing Regina's sheets until my knuckles turn white.  _That laugh... I love-hate that fucking laugh._  "I told you I missed you, Em." 

"I'll let you apologize. That's it." 

"Okay," she says gently. "Okay. I'll meet you tomorrow at ten for coffee." 

"Fine," I murmur, and hang up. Regina's still asleep on her side, facing away from me. I put my phone back on the nightstand and roll towards her, molding my front into her back and wrapping one arm around her waist. She presses herself further into me, sighing contently. 

I try not to think about tomorrow. 

* * *

  
She won't speak to me. She goes about getting ready and making breakfast with this quiet, deep hurt in her eyes and I hate myself for putting it there. "Are you going to leave me?" I ask finally, unable to keep from voicing the question. I watch her back stiffen, and she continues to scrub furiously at an already-clean plate while I sit at the kitchen table. "I wouldn't blame you, y'know. Everyone always leaves eventually." 

The plate shatters in the sink as she throws it. She sees me jump as she turns to face me, but doesn't apologize. "Am I everyone?" I blink at her. "Answer the fucking question, Emma! Am I every person that has ever done you wrong? Am I that bitch that made you hate your own fucking body, even though you're fucking  _beautiful_! Am I her?"

"No," I whisper, voice thick with tears and fear. "No, you're not." Walking over to the table, she places her hands on it and leans over, looking me right in the eye. Her rings clink against the glass, and for a second I worry she's cracked it. 

"Then don't you  _dare_ ask me that question, Emma Swan.  _I_ should be asking it." 

"What? Regina, no, I'm not going anywhere. I love you." 

"Do you?" A single tear is trailing down her cheek. "Do you love me?" 

 _"Yes!"_ I shout, not out of anger but in hopes that she'll understand. "Gina, you are the only one in this fucked up world that understands me, that  _wants_ me! How can you think I don't love you? Because guess what, Regina, I do. I'm so in love with you that it scares the ever loving  _shit_ out of me! And it feels  _good_." 

"Then why did you say yes?" she asks softly, her eyes now gentle. "Why did you agree to see the woman who hurt you so deeply it took me convincing you you were worth something before you actually believed in yourself?" She rounds the table and kneels at my side, takes my face in her hands. "Why, baby?" 

"Because," I say weakly, "She's giving me the chance for closure I never got." My girlfriend says nothing, just wipes at my tears with her thumbs and raises up on her knees to kiss my forehead. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and cry.  


* * *

  
The coffeehouse is crowded, but I still manage to spot her in a booth to the far right. She looks the same, even hunched over a styrofoam cup which I know is an extra-large chai tea latte. Her platinum-blonde hair is still in its signature braid, and her sky-blue eyes are searching. When they land on me, she smiles meekly and immediately stands to hug me as I walk over. 

The hug lasts too long, feels too much like  _Please come back_ , and it makes me clear my throat and step away. The last thing I wanted was to create a scandal right after Regina and I announced our relationship publicly. 

"Please, sit. Can I get you something? You still drink caramel macchiatos, right?" 

"Decaf now," I tell her, forcing myself to smile. "Still warm, not hot." Elsa nods, says she'll be right back. I drum my knuckles on the table and wait. Regina was at the studio, working on the album. She'd wanted to drop me off in the Vette, but I'd taken a taxi.  _Fuck, this is awkward._

"Here ya go," Elsa grins, setting my drink down in front of me. 

"Thanks," I murmur, taking a sip. 

"You're welcome." 

Silence.

"You mind tellin' me why you flew all the way from Seattle to see me?" I ask at last, unable to bear the almost palpable unease.  

"I told you, I missed you." 

"You could've called." 

She bites her lip. "I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry." 

I grit my teeth behind closed lips. "Are you? Or are you just jealous because you saw me with Regina?" My tone is flippant, harsh. I watch with satisfaction as she winces, watch the familiar look on her face as she draws in on herself. 

"Both," she admits. And then she's reaching for my hand. "Emma..." Her touch burns, and I pull away. She sighs. "I'm sorry. I was a bitch to you." 

"Yes, you were."

"I deserved that. Emma, Anna's gone. She wasn't you, and... and I... Fuck. I _miss_ you, Em." 

"I'm sorry about Anna," I say, thankful that there's no bitterness in my voice now. "I know you loved her."  

Elsa shakes her head. "Not like I love you. Before, I didn't realize what I had, but now--" 

"Now it's too late, Else. I'm with Regina now, and I'm  _happy_." 

"Are you in love with her?" 

"Yes. I finally found my soulmate in her."

Elsa wipes her watering eyes. "She's not me. She'll never be me." 

"No," I say gently, "She isn't. And I've realized that her not being you is a _good_ thing. There's no way we would've lasted, Else. You  _hated_ being with me in the end. You hated making breakfast for us, you hated our sex life--" 

"I didn't--" 

"You said it was a **chore**!" I spit. "You said you were looking for my fucking replacement!"

"I'm sorry! Fuck, Emma, I'm so fucking sorry!" 

I take a deep, steadying breath. "I am too. "I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted, and I'm sorry you didn't want to be what I needed." She's openly sobbing now, and my chest hurts to see it, but this needs to be said, to be dealt  with once and for all. 

"I appreciate you coming to see me. I appreciate you being woman enough to apologize to my face, but this has got to be it, sweetheart. This has got to be finished. Regina deserves all of me, not just the broken pieces." 

"Can w-we... at least be... Friends?" 

I smile for her. "The kind that send each other Christmas cards once a year and send Happy Birthday messages on Facebook? No, you deserve better than that, Elsa, and so do I." 

"Em-Emma... I love you. I always have. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" 

"If that were true, we wouldn't be sitting here right now, love." 

"Please... Please..." I shake my head again. She wipes her eyes and starts to rise. "I shouldn't have come." 

"No, sit." She slides back into the booth. I gather my canes and stand. "I'm gonna be the one leaving this time." Fresh tears fall onto her cheeks. "Thanks for the coffee," I murmur, turning towards the door. "Take care of yourself, Else." 

I don't look back as my name brokenly leaves her mouth. 


	16. Phoenix From The Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And so we come to the end.
> 
> You told me once to write my pain. I took your advice, Green Eyes.
> 
> I'm sorry if this isn't perfect - I'm sorry if there are inaccuracies or inconsistencies, but I didn't write this story for that. I wrote it to say goodbye to old pain, to bid farewell to a face once loved and eyes once worth drowning in. I wrote it to empty myself of bitterness. I think it helped.
> 
> Thanks to Lana and Jen for allowing me to heal myself through these characters, and thank you to everyone who read and commented. I love you all.

**_Epilogue_ ** _**\- Six Weeks Later** _

"Are you sure about this?" Regina's hand is threaded tightly with mine, squeezing as she turns down the street leading to my parents' driveway. Laughing, I glance at her profile, watching as she worries her bottom lip. 

"I'm sure. Relax. I promise I won't let them eat you." 

She chuckles. "Ass." 

"Yeah, but I'm  _your_ ass. And once we get there, I promise to give you your present." A week ago, I'd gotten my first royalty check for the bio, and had immediately arranged for Leroy to take me out shopping. He'd kept the gift at his place, and, before we'd boarded the plane to head to Storybrooke, had put it in a large box so Regina couldn't guess what it was. 

She narrows her eyes. "Don't try to distract me with the mention of your beautiful ass. It won't work."

I laugh again. "I think it already has."

"Oh yeah,  _baby_?" she husks, and I grit my teeth.

"Fuck you," I mumble, feeling myself react to her tone. 

She arches a perfect eyebrow. "Please do. As long as you're okay with giving your parents a show." 

"I'm not telling you what it is," I reply stubbornly. "You'll have to be a good girl and wait for your surprise." 

She laughs. "Kinky, Phoenix, very kinky. Will you spank me if I take a peek?"   

"Nope. You'd like it too much," I joke, and she squeezes my hand again and tells me she loves me. I say it back and grin. It's the easiest its ever been, saying those words. I don't choke on my own fear anymore. Saying goodbye to Elsa had been necessary, freeing. I was able to love Regina without reservation now, without the constant doubting voice in my head. Somewhere along the way, I'd become the version of myself I had been striving for years to be, and loving her - _letting_ myself love her - had been the catalyst.

She takes another deep breath as my parent's house comes into view. Mom and Dad, Rubes and Belle are all standing on the front porch. I grin again, my chest full to bursting at the pure joy in my family's eyes. As soon as Regina's Vette comes to a stop, Red is at the passenger side door, opening it with such force I'm afraid she's going to take it off the hinges. 

"Em!" she shouts, brown eyes sparkling. "Get your ass out of that car and give me a hug!" I shake my head at her and laugh, grabbing my canes and sliding out of the car. As soon as I'm steady on my feet, her arms are around me, squeezing. "Look at you, all cityfied! Guess that comes with lovin' a New Yorker, eh?" Grinning, I squeeze back. Red kisses my cheek and lets go. I hear Regina getting out of the car and turn to beam at her. Her sunglasses are holding her hair back, and she's wearing a one-sided smile; her left hand gently tapping on the car's hood. Just looking at her makes my heart speed up. She holds my gaze and winks. 

"So here's Regina Mills!" Ruby crows.

My girlfriend chuckles, looking at Red with an amused smirk. "What? Did you think I'd be taller?" 

Red shrugs. "Less hot, maybe. Singers aren't usually as hot as they are on their covers --- Guess you're the exception. Emma has good taste."

"I'm glad you approve."

"I'm just glad she's happy." 

Regina grins. " _We_ are." 

Dad starts walking towards us, arms out, with Mom in tow. Both of them are as impatient as ever. "Are you planning on saying hello to your father any time soon?" The face-splitting grin I've been sporting since we pulled up comes back full force, and I take a few hurried steps to close the distance between us. "I've missed you," he murmurs into my hair, kissing my temple. 

I breathe in his cologne and rest my chin on his shoulder. "I've missed you too." When he lets go, Mom comes to my other side, wrapping her arms tightly around me. Her embrace feels more like a python than a welcome home, but I squeeze her back just as hard.  

"Emma!" she cries, and I can't help but laugh at the joy in her voice.  

"Hi, Mom." The hug lasts for awhile, but when it ends, I pull back and turn towards Regina. "Mom, Dad, this is--" 

"The woman you fell in love with but refused to admit you were in love with," Mom interjects, eyes gleaming. "Yes, we know. Regina, it's a pleasure to meet you." Regina rounds the car, shutting the door before coming to stand next to me, hand offered. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs. Nolan." 

"Mary Margret, please," Mom says affably, shaking her hand firmly.  _This whole thing feels like a dream. Dad's not even doing his usual once-over. Baby, I don't know what I did to deserve you. But fuck, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life thanking whoever gave me you._

"Let's go inside," Mom suggests. She looks at me. "There's a bear claw from Granny's with your name on it." 

 

* * *

  
"Can I open it now?" Regina laughs. We're sitting at the kitchen table, empty cups of coffee and two signed copies of the bio by my parent's elbows. The gift is laid between her booted feet, and I can tell that curiosity is eating away at her. 

"Yes," I chuckle. "Go ahead." 

My heart rate picks up as I watch her unwrap it, as she gets closer and closer to the note and the gift itself. "A note?" she arches a brow, un-tapes it and glances at me. I nod. "Read it aloud."  _Is my voice shaking?_

She clears her throat and reads:

 

> _Regina,_  
>    
>  _It's because of you that I've become what I am -- your Phoenix risen from the flame._  
>  _I love you. I know I'll never be able to say those words enough, but I promise to make them mean something, always._

She lowers the note and smiles a smile meant just for me. "Emma..." 

I smile, bite my lip. "Open it." Unwrapping the final layer of paper, she stops and stares at the guitar case. 

"What did you--?" 

I laugh. "Open it and you'll see!" She unclasps the case, gasping as she takes in her gift. The guitar is acoustic, made from Brazilian Rosewood, and inlaid in the body is the silhouette  of a phoenix in flight. The fret-board is inlaid with silver flames. 

"Oh, my God. Emma, baby, this is... How did you--? The royalty check. You used it." She's grinning, teary-eyed and beautiful. 

"And a little extra," I told her, my heart fluttering at the look of awe and love in her eyes. She just shakes her head. Ruby lets out a low whistle, Belle mutters a quiet "holy shit" under her breath. Mom and Dad just look stunned. "There's more," I say, and her eyes go wide. I clear my throat. "Take it out and look at the tag."

She does.

Her mouth falls open and the tears in her eyes spill over her cheeks. She can do nothing but look at me, and I can do nothing but smile. "Well?" Belle asks softly, "What is it?" 

"It -- it says  _'Will you marry me?'_ " 

"What?!" my parents gasp in unison.

I can't look at them, my gaze is still fixed on her face, waiting.  Slowly, she sets the guitar down, propping it against the table. "Regina..." I breathe. She's smiling, a shaking hand against her mouth. "Will you?" She nods, and the world stops. "Yeah?" I ask, and she nods again. 

"Yes," she sobs. "Yes, yes, yes!" She's out of the chair, hands on my face, kissing me with abandon. "I love you," she whispers shakily against my lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you..." She presses our foreheads together. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Emma Nolan Swan." 

"Good. Because I do, too." 

There are tears in her eyes again, but they're happy ones this time. 


End file.
